#the way she bumps into him at the beginning

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

[inlovewithpandora]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ FIRST TIME FLUTTERS ᝰ You and Miguel feel the baby move in your belly for the first time.

Music Advisory — Miguel O’Hara x fem!preg!reader // fluff, domestic!miguel, established relationship [married couple], mom!reader & dad!miguel, pregnancy [second trimester], emotional [happy tears], belly rubbing + kissing, Miguel speaking Spanish [google translations included]

Duration — a little under 1.0k words

Words from Artist — This was such a cute and fun little Drabble I wanted to write with Miguel because I love writing him w/ prego!reader and I was inspired when I seen this tiktok couple (the video is so cute🥹!!). I have some longer fics in the works for him with prego!reader but I wanted to post something short/quick for him. As always feel free to comment and reblog, I enjoy reading y’all reactions and would love to hear your thoughts <3

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The quiet hum throughout your home is soothing while the scent of Miguel’s cologne lingers in the air and your favorite choice of music plays softly in the background. You're currently sitting on the couch, curled up in one of your husband’s oversized shirts, while your hand rests gently over your belly. At nearly five months pregnant, your baby bump is becoming more prominent, a constant reminder of the life that’s constantly growing inside you.

Miguel’s in the kitchen, finishing up dinner. Tonight is one of the many times he insisted on cooking for you instead of letting you lift a finger since you revealed to him that you were carrying his child. He’s been extra attentive lately, always making sure you’re comfortable, well-fed, and not pushing yourself too hard.

While your mind begins to wander on the baby, wondering if she’ll have more of your features or Miguel’s, you notice that the soft flutter you felt earlier this morning has returned feeling a little more prominent than before, like tiny butterfly wings brushing against your skin. Earlier you assumed your mind was playing tricks on you, you’ve been so excited to feel your baby girl moving inside your womb that you assumed your body mimicked the feeling of flutters but now that the feeling is more profound you know that it's real, that you're actually feeling your baby move for the first time.

“Miguel!” 

He appears into your line of sight in an instant, his sharp features softening when he sees the expression on your face. “What’s wrong, cariño?” His voice is laced with concern at first, not knowing what’s going on but when he notices the way your hand is cradling your belly, his brows raise in curiosity.

“She’s moving,” you whisper, your smile growing as you continue to feel movement in your belly. “I can feel her.”

Miguel’s eyes widen at your statement, and without hesitation, he comes by your side, kneeling in front of you so he can feel your daughter making her presence known. His large, callous hand replaces yours on your belly, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tries to find the magic spot. “De verdad? [really?] She’s moving?”

“Yeah, right here.” You place your hand over his, guiding him to where you feel movement. For a few moments, nothing happens, Miguel can’t feel anything and you can see the faintest trace of doubt cross his face. But then, the flutter comes again, soft and unmistakable, and his eyes lit up with pure wonder. “There she is,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I can feel her.”

He presses his hand more firmly to your belly while his other hand covers yours, wanting to feel your touch. “Mi niña hermosa [my beautiful girl], it’s me, your papá. Can you feel me?” 

You watch as his usual stoic demeanor melts away and you can see the softer and emotional side of him that only you get to see. Miguel bends closer, his lips brushing against your belly as he begins to speak to the baby. “Hola, mi amor. [Hello, my love.] I’ve been waiting to meet you. You’re already so strong, just like your mamá.” He kisses your belly gently, his voice growing thick with emotion as he imagines what life will be like raising a child with you. “Tu mamá y yo te amamos tanto. [Your mom and I love you so much.]”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion as you run your fingers through his dark hair, watching him pour his heart out to your unborn daughter. “You feel her again?” you ask softly, blinking away your tears, trying your best not to cry but the moment is just too heartwarming not to.

He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek as another flutter greets the palm of his hand. “Sí [Yes], she’s moving so much now. She knows we’re here.” He presses multiple kisses your belly now, moving his hand to different places on your flesh as he speaks life into his unborn child, wanting her to feel his love before she even takes her first breath. “Te prometo, mi niña, que siempre voy a cuidarte. [I promise you, my little girl, that I will always take care of you.] You’ll never have to be afraid, not while I’m here.”

His voice cracks as he speaks, and he looks up at you, his dark red eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “She’s really in there.” He says almost in disbelief, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes shift between you and your belly.

You let out a little chuckle while you nod in agreement, tears streaming down your cheeks as your hand rests on the back of his head, gently rubbing your thumb against his skin. “Yes. She’s really in there, Miguel.”

Miguel straightens up, sitting on the couch with you as his hands keeps their current placement, protectively on your belly. “I’m going to be the best dad I can be for her.” Ever since you told him you were pregnant he’s made it his mission to become the most dedicated husband and father possible. His usual reserved and serious demeanor has softened ever since he found out, and despite his mind racing with concerns about the future holds, the risks, or his own responsibilities, he’s fully committed to doing his best. 

You lean your head against him, pressing your head against chest and wrapping your arm around his. “I already know you will be. She’s so lucky to have you.”

After a moment, Miguel leans over slightly, his face level with your belly once again. He rested both hands on either side of your bump and pressed another kiss to your skin. “Te amo, mi princesa. [I love you, my princess.] I can’t wait to meet you. You’re going to be amazing, just like your mamá.” He rubs slow circles on your belly, his lips brushing against it as he whispers against your soft skin.

Once Miguel is done talking to your unborn child, he pulls you into a deep embrace, wrapping his arms around your body and your belly as if he could shield you both from the world. “We’re going to be parents.” you whisper, your voice breaking, trying to keep your emotions in check but due to pregnancy hormones it’s harder than usual.

He nods in agreement, kissing the top of your head, excited for what the future holds for the two of you. “We’re going to be the best parents.”

Fanbase — @migueloharasoulmate @d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @tater-tot0423 @theitgurl2 @miguelsesposa @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @maxlynn17 @kxllanxtdoor @ban-al3x @beargracecanbeanyone @miguellover6969 @3zae-zae3 @mellagzz @h3art-l3ss-blog1 @taylormarieee @popeheywardssecretgf @onlyloaksgf @solanawrld @baizzhu @savagemickey03 @soilmayo @lilmiss-stussy @pixiesrealm

[f4dedtouch]

╰┈➤ how fawn!reader met the love of her life

pairing: fawn!reader x rafe

summary: childhood memories, rafe being a little broody at the beginning, details on how rafe and fawn!reader really became best friends….and lovers but they will keep that to themselves for now. fluff.

warnings: none!

you met sarah when you were six. she was the first person you ever called a best friend, the one who understood you without you ever needing to explain yourself. from that moment on, you were always at tannyhill, spending summers by the pool, sneaking snacks from the kitchen, and whispering secrets under the covers at sleepovers. rafe was there too, but back then, he was just sarah’s older brother, too busy rolling his eyes at your little games to care.

it was not until you were nine that you actually met rafe. you had scraped your knee while out cycling with sarah, but she was too busy talking to some boy she liked, so you wandered back to tannyhill alone, sniffling. before you even made it inside, rafe spotted you, leaning against the doorway like he was debating whether or not to care.

“what happened?” he asked, all sharp jaw and furrowed brows, like the answer actually mattered.

“scraped my knee,” you mumbled sniffling.

“where is sarah?”

when you told him she was still with that boy, he clenched his jaw, muttered something under his breath, and then, without another word, made you sit down. he cleaned your knee with all the quiet focus of someone pretending not to care, his hands oddly gentle despite the way he sighed like you were the biggest inconvenience of his day.

“there. go bother sarah now.”

and then he left.

that should have been the end of it. but somehow, after that day, you started noticing him more. or maybe, he started noticing you.

by the time you were thirteen, rafe was just… there. always lingering at the edges, never really part of your friendship with sarah but never fully leaving either. he never actually asked to hang out with you, but if you and sarah were watching a movie in the living room, he would suddenly appear, throwing himself onto the couch and stealing your popcorn. if you were at the beach, he would show up with his friends but somehow always end up near you.

“you are way too quiet.” he’d tease.

“you are way too loud.” you’d shot back scowling at him.

“that book looks boring.”

“then why do you keep asking me about it?”

he never admitted he liked having you around, but you noticed the way he would flick your book pages just to annoy you, the way he would “accidentally” bump into you when passing by, the way he always seemed to be near without ever actually asking to be. too tough, too proud, too rafe to just say he wanted to be there.

at sixteen, things changed. you were still sarah’s best friend. that part never changed. but rafe—god, rafe—was there too, and suddenly, he was everywhere. you told yourself nothing was different, but somehow, you were spending just as much time with him as you did with sarah.

if you went for late-night ice cream runs, he was driving. if you sat by the beach, he was throwing seashells at you just to be annoying. if you stayed up reading in sarah’s room, he was barging in, demanding you both make him food because he was “starving”. he made fun of your tea obsession but always stocked your favorite kind in the kitchen. if you were baking, he was stealing spoonfuls of batter behind your back.

somewhere along the way, rafe decided you two were best friends. you never actually agreed to it, but that did not matter.

and when things got too much—when his father’s voice got too loud or his fists curled too tight—you were the only person who could bring him back. you would touch his arm, whisper, “rafe, it is okay.” and it always was.

by eighteen, things were different, even if neither of you said it out loud maybe because it had been so fun being his best friend that u just didn’t wanted to ruin that.

rafe had settled into your life in a way that felt permanent, like he had always been there, like he always would be. he became an important part of your life after sarah.

he never said much about it, but his presence spoke for itself. if you were out, he was there too, standing just close enough to remind everyone else not to get any ideas. if someone tried to flirt with you, his stare alone was usually enough to shut it down.

your things kept ending up at his place, but instead of returning them, he just… kept them. your favorite hoodie stayed folded on the chair in his room. your favorite lipgloss was always in his truck. when you asked about it, he would just shrug and say, “thought you forgot about it.”

he cooked meals with you when your parents would be away for work at your place. he picked you up at night when you could not sleep, took you on drives with no destination, letting you ramble about everything and nothing. he let you talk about the guys who had been getting on your nerves, let you complain about the dumb things people did, nodding along even when he was barely listening.

“you know none of them are good enough for you, right?”

“and you are?”

he never answered that. just gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and changed the subject.

you still hung out with sarah all the time, still spent nights at tannyhill more than your own house. but when you had a bad day, when the world felt like too much, you did not even have to ask—rafe would just open his arms, letting you curl into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and maybe it was.

maybe it had been this way all along.

and maybe, just maybe, everyone else had figured it out before you two did.

a/n: first post ever I’m excitedddddd!!! also a feel free to request my !readers!

[kamospeach]

i've been tryna learn to let you go .ᐟ

plot: fratboy!choso who can't help but let his guard fall for you for real this time.

content warning: soft dom choso ofc, standing cunnilingus, missionary, stomach bulging, doggy, spitting, just a lil degradation, lots of dirty talking, ass play cs he's freaky asf, choso begs a tad

peachy's yap: this is part 2 you can read part 1 here. pt.3 maybe gotta see how im feelin. i REFUSE to write overly subby choso sorry :P

to say you were pissed would be an understatement. not only was choso being a bitch you didn't get the book you needed. you stormed out of the library with an angry look, stomping off to your dorm. you pulled out your phone, needing to tell your best friend about what happened.

you bumped into a hard shoulder, quickly turning around, getting ready to cuss someone out, until you noticed it was gojo. he had a goofy smirk until he saw the irritated look on your face. after noticing, he went into what he calls 'big brother mode'.

"what happened?" he asked, and you shrugged, huffing, not wanting to relive the conversation you just had. you just looked between him and the library, and sighed. "so?"

"choso's, being a bitch he pretended not to know me," you said crossing your arms and gojo frowned up.

"choso? no way... he's usually nice," he said in shock, and you nodded. that's what you heard too, the week during the party, at the party, and even after he pretended not to know you.

"yeah i keep fucking hearing that, clearly that's a lie." you scoffed walking away from gojo and he grabbed your arm. you spun around, expecting gojo to make a corny joke about your situation. but when you turned around, gojo had a sympathetic look on his face.

"i'll talk to him," he tells you, and you shrug, snatching your hand out of his grip. you stormed off to your dorm not wanting to hear another thing about choso.

gojo wasn't mad, but he definitely wasn't pleased to hear about choso. he was his frat brother, but you were a childhood friend. he knew it wasn't his place, but he felt like he could help. when he got to the library, he saw choso checking out two books.

"aye choso!" gojo whisper yelled making choso turn around.

"wassup man," he said, walking out the library with gojo beside him.

"you pretended not to know y/n when she came looking for you?" he asked, and choso scoffed. he couldn't believe that you told gojo that fast.

"she told you?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

"yeah, i ran into her, she looked pretty upset."

"i didn't have any choice. i've never liked someone as much as i've liked her, and it had only been a week. just scared to admit that i liked her that much," he admitted, and gojo laughed, shaking his.

"why don't you tell her that then?" he said as if it was the most obvious thing ever. (it definitely was the most obvious thing ever)

"uh... i will," he nodded with a smile, walking away from gojo. "thanks!" he yelled, running away to his car.

"you're welcome?" gojo said, not exactly sure what he did.

you sat in your dorm, arms crossed at the audacity of this man. you told your best friends, and she told you not to think about it, but it wasn't working. you watched baddies, played sims, read a book, and even went on tiktok. nothing was working and all you could think about was last night.

even after everything happened, you couldn't deny he was the best you've ever had. he was gentle in the beginning and rough almost feral at the end. the way he didn’t mind you being in control, but he took the control back later. all you could think about was-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

you got scared by the knocking at your door, you hadn’t been expecting anyone. you got up and opened the door only to be met with choso. your face was turned up with disgust as he stood there looking guilty. his hands were filled with gifts, you noticed a couple of stuffed animals, bags from target, and even a wingstop bag.

“what do you want?” you asked, and he cleared his throat, looking up at you.

“i’m really really sorry. i shouldn’t have acted like i didn’t know you. especially after everything we did together last night, it was-“ you cut him off, pulling him into the room. he was airing out all your dirty laundry in the hallway of your dorm.

"you're so embarrassing," you tell him, and he gave you a sheepish smile. "go ahead now."

"well, i was going to say what we did last night meant a lot to me. i've never liked anyone this much and this early, and i didn't want to scare you away." he admitted handing you the wingstop bag. "geto also told me your order."

"you could’ve told me that and not act like a dick,” you say arms crossed not letting him get off that easy. he nodded in agreement, and you hummed, glad he sees your point of view.

“you’re 100% right and i sincerely apologize for that,” he said, he almost sounded pathetic. but you liked it the way he was practically begging and apologizing for you to forgive him. plus the attention was even better and he looked good too, but that wasn’t a major point of course.

“i don't believe you're really sorry." you shrugged, although you did believe his apology. and it had only been three hours since the incident, so it must have been eating him up.

"well i got the book you threw at me." he said sitting down all the stuff he bought. "and i got you a bunch of shit because i didn't know what you liked."

"material stuff doesn't mean you sincerely mean it." you crossed your arms and he sighed. before you knew it, choso was on his knees grabbing your waist.

"y/n i'm so so so sorry, i don't know how else to explain it." he pleaded pulling you close to him resting his head on your stomach. "i promise to never treat you wrong ever again. i'll... i'll be good, i'll give you anything you want," he begged looking up at you and you couldn't deny this sight was messing with your head.

"uh... choso." you stammered and he looked up at you, hands moving to the button on your pants.

"i promise i really..." he grovelled, unbuttoning your pants, pulling the zipper down. he kissed the exposed skin of your stomach, humming to himself. "...promise," he says, and you were weak, allowing him to tug down your pants. leaving you only in your thong as your pants fell to your ankles.

"choso..." you gasped as his thumb pressed on your clothed clit. the tension was there, and you were needy for him yet again. he's on his knees, begging for you to forgive him, and that was enough to turn you on.

"you this wet already, i've only been here for 5 minutes," he said rubbing your clit still but that statement only made you feel worse. you gave in only 5 minutes later, just because he begged.

"i was... i..." you cut yourself off, but choso moved his finger away looking up at you. His eyes clearly telling you to continue but you were genuinely embarrassed to admit what you were about to say. "i was thinking about you."

"oh?" he asked with a chuckle, he said nothing else, he just pulled down your panties. he even helped you stepped out of your clothing not missing the chance to slyly slip your panties into his pocket. he was silent and you felt his breath on your wet lips. "pretty." he mumbled as burried his face in your pussy.

"oh my...ugh!" you moaned as he began to suck your clit and lap at your juices. he was a lot more skilled than you thought he'd be. the way his tongue expertedly delved into your cunt and his lips wrapped around your clit. he was so good that your legs trembled from the immense pleasure.

your hands found their way into his hair that was coincidentally down today. pushing the hair ou the way so you could see his face. his brow furrowed in concentration, and his pretty honey brown eyes looked up at you. almost pleading with you to forgive him, the mark on his nose brought to your attention once again.

it was all too much, the look on his face, the pleasure, the way he had a death grip on your copper colored thighs. his slurping was loud and he never once pulled away for air. he was happily suffocating in your thighs and your cunt.

"are you o...okay," you said, words being cut off by moans. he was doing this for you and all you could care about was if he could adequately breathe. he pulled away from you and the sight was enough to make you come undone. your essence dripping down his chin, his tongue swiped across his bottom lip.

"i'm fine, this is about you," he tells you, and you laugh, looking away from him.

"we should... um probably go to my room, my best friend will be back soon," you said and choso nodded grabbing your pants and standing to his feet. his arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. "no warning?" you laughed and he smiled.

"no," was all he said before he sat you down on the bed. lightly pushing your body back, you propped your body up with your arms. you weren't sure if you he was going to continue where he left off. "i want to fuck you so bad but i need to make this about you."

"it's okay, you can do that and still make it about me," you exclaimed not caring if it made you sound desperate. you needed him more than anything right now.

he didn't need to hear anything else before he pulled down his pants in a hurry. his dick sprung slapping his clothed stomach. next came his shirt being discarded on the floor next to him. he immediately climbed into the bed after you, moving you to the middle of the bed.

he wasted no time spreading your legs, finding solace in between your thighs. he leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours as he rubbed your thighs. the feeling turning you on even more.

you grabbed his face, pulling his lips to yours. enjoy the feeling of his soft plump lips against yours. as you kissed, he pulled down your shirt, letting your breasts free.

"no bra?" he mumbled against your lips, making you chuckle. his mind was clouded, all he could see, think, hear, feel, and taste was you. he kissed down your neck, your moans getting louder and louder at the feeling. his teeth sank into your neck, not worrying about how obvious it would be later.

"choso please... i need it," you whined, begging choso to get on with it. he wanted to cherish your body and feel you, but you had other plans. after your begging he gave in lining up his hard and leaky cock with your wet cunt. slipping in with ease the feeling of your slippery wet cunt enough for him to come undone on the spot.

"fuck you feel so good," he mumbled moving his hips at a slow pace teasing you. his eyes on yours never leaving your face as if he was trying to memorize the way you looked. "m'so fucking sorry." he moaned out pushing his cock in you until the hilt.

he stills inside you, letting some of his weight press down on you. you rubbed the nape of his neck, which soothed him more than you knew.

"you hear me? i'm sorry, baby," he said, eyes holding that same look as they did earlier.

"i already forgave you cho." you smile and he nods, moving his hips now. his thrusts were long and rough as his lips pecked yours so softly it was like they barely even touched.

"you did?" he asked, tilting his head as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. his cock head was continuously pounding your cervix. he lightly patted your cheek making you look up at him. "there you go, look at me. such a pretty slut." you wanted to say yes but your pride was stopping you.

"ugh... cho!" you yelped when he pressed down on your stomach that was bulging just a little. it was bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm, and your walls clenched around him. "close." was all you could manage to get out.

"hold it," he demanded as he continued his never-faltering fast pace thrust. his eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, his bangs stuck to his forehead from sweating profusely. he was in a frenzy going absolutely feral at the way you cleaned on his thick cock.

without warning he pulled out and flipped you over. he gripped both of your ass cheeks spreading them open. your body was aching and your face was pressed into the pillow. he was taking a second, and you were getting anxious. until you felt the bed move and spit run down puckered entrance and drip down your gaped cunt.

choso on the other hand felt hypnotized by the view of your goodies spread open for him. his thumb rubbed his spit against your ass and your body jerked from the unusual feeling. you screamed out when you felt his dick and his thumb enter both of your holes at the same time.

"w...what are you doing?" you asked looking back at choso. his head was thrown back as he used his thumb to pull you back on him. your cream coating him and creating a ring around his base.

"you want me to stop?" he asked, looking down at you, sincerity evident in his voice and his eyes. he stopped his movements, causing you to whine, enjoying the pleasure.

"nooo~," you whined and he smiled at you. but yet he still didn't move, squinting his eyes at you almost like he didn't believe. but in all honesty, he just wanted to tease you.

"ask me to keep going," he said, and you groaned, not in the mood. you rolled your eyes putting your face back in the pillow. "rolling your eyes will only make it worse." he said and you sighed sucking it up.

"keep going cho please," you whined and he chuckled fucking into you again. just like last night, the bed hit against the wall while choso thrusted into you mercilessly.

"such a... hah... good girl for me." he moaned his words broke up by animalistic groans and grunts. "fuck you got me about to cum baby," he said pulling his thumb out of you using both hands to grip your ass cheeks. he put one of his knees up to balance himself.

"cho... cho..." he was hitting your spot so good you were chanting his name out like it was the only word you knew. but he already knew what that meant, you were cumming and he was right behind you.

"yeah? that's your spot huh?" he asked and you nodded not being able to use your words. he wouldn't usually let you off the hook but he knew you were about to cum and couldn't think straight. "cum wit me baby... on three." he instructed and you hummed.

1... he counted off still fucking into you not even having the decency to slow down. 2... he even had the nerve to count a lot slower than regular. not even bothering to say the number you were waiting for.

"shit... 3," he said pushing his cock deeper in you letting his cum fill you up as your body jerked from the feeling. squirt dripping down your leg as you came violently on him. "fuck." he huffed as he stayed stuffed inside of you. you both were breathing heavily, his hands now on your waist. your hands on his forearm caressing it softly.

he pulled out, making the two of you shudder from being sensitive. he got off the bed pulling on his boxers and running to your bathroom. he looked around letting out a small 'fuck' when he realized he didn't know where your towels were.

he came back to your room, asking where they were, and you told him. When he came back this time, he had a warm rag, he began cleaning you off and then himself. he even took it upon himself to take off your sheets and put them in your dirty clothes hamper. luckily for the two of you, your comforter fell off the bed.

you felt all giddy inside as he helped you get dressed. you being the absolute big back you are (as you should be tho) never forgot about the wingstop he brought you. the two of you warming up your order and turning on a movie to watch.

after a while, you thought about how you hadn't seen your phone in a minute. once you finally found it, there were 20+ messages from your dorm group chat. one message was enough for you to choke on your chicken.

'whoever is next door to me in 315, let that girl breatheee y'all were just at it last night😩.'

you showed it to choso and he laughed, shrugging his shoulder. you were insanely embarrassed, but not as embarrassed when you heard a knock on your door. your best friend opened it, letting you know that she and geto had been in her room across the hall trying to sleep for the last 30 minutes.

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Challengers Meljayvik AU Part I - slightly nsfw btw cause its challengers...

cow farm, there's gonna be cows outside

Part I

Mel Medarda, 18 in 2006 - 30 in 2018, former emerging tennis star and it girl, coming from an upperclass background with a renowned family name, she as the chosen heir of the Medardas, disgraced the family businness by persuing a career as an athlete from a young age - fortunately for her, her pursuit proved favourable for her mother's political and economic ventures so she was eventually completely supported by her family - Tashi Duncan Variant

Jayce Talis, 18 in 2006 - 30 in 2018, humble boy from even humbler beginnings, Jayce's love for tennis started young, he'd watch the same set of matches over and over again until his parents finally cracked it and sent him to have lessons. It's there at 8 years old, he met Viktor, who was "volunteering" as the coach's assistant, by there early teens Jayce was being trained and coached solely by his best friend Viktor who had become an expert on the sport through mere observation - Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson Variant

Viktor Reveck, 18 in 2006 - 30 in 2018, hailing from the Czech Republic, his working-class parents moved to the US for work and very soon regretted it, leading them to move back to their homeland once Viktor went to college. Viktor took a liking to tennis, because his parents found a box of VHS tapes in the attic of their new house when they first moved in and it was all they could afford to watch for a month or so because they'd spent all their savings on the move. His neighbour Sky was also interested in tennis and her father coached some pretty big names so Viktor started hanging around during his coaching lessons, after he and Sky became close friends - Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig Variant.

Jayce met Mel first at his summer job, two years prior to the comp rhat brings them all together, part-timing at a country club. She approached him after he attempted to get some after-hours practice in on the courts. Mel pretended she was security, with a flashlight, yelled at him and scared the living daylights out of him. He had already known who she was prior because her face was plastered across all of the magazines he'd give out to club members. And he took very considerate but appropriate and not at all creepy notice of her frequently sunbathing by the pool every now and then. They friendly after that, but Jayce never built up the courage to ask her out. He tried to on his final day but she didn't show up.

At the Junior US Open (everyone is 18/19) Viktor makes Jayce come with him to watch Sky's match, but for the purpose of studying Mel, the most dominant player in the tournament. Jayce sits there pretending not to know Mel, but astonishment trumps his facade. He had seen her practice before at the country club but this was something else entirely, she was fierce and magnetic on the court and he was sitting there slack jawed, clutching on to Viktor's thigh, Viktor had also found himself distracted and entranced. Mel wins the match, ending it with a bellowing war cry. Viktor and Jayce are both hot and bothered, trying to play off how horny Mel Medarda had made them.

They find Sky after and console her. Jayce tries to catch Mel's eye from a distance to no avail, Viktor makes note of this attempt, scoffing at him but also somewhat troubled at the idea of Jayce and Mel potentially knowing each other because if they did it would be the first time ever Jayce kept something from him.

At the after party hosted by Mel's family, Sky leaves early a little downtrodden after her loss, Jayce and Viktor watch her leave, and see her bump in to Mel, and exchange pleasantries. Mel envelopes Sky in a hug, Sky melts and the two chuckle. Sky finally escapes and Mel makes her way to the dance floor. Viktor taps Jayce to signal that they should get a closer look. They stand a table with their drinks in hand eyes fixed on her movements. When she goes to her own table alone to take a sip of her drink, they approach with quickness.

"Hi, I'm Jayce Talis. I'm not sure, you remember," Viktor's eyes flicker over his best friend for a mere moment before taking a seat in front of Mel. "Viktor Reveck." Jayce stays standing.

"I remember, Jayce... and I know you, Viktor, your reputations proceed you, the ultimate best friend coach-athlete duo, they call you earth and moon, don't they?" Her gaze lingers on both of them.

Viktor sucks in a breath sharply as Jayce huffs in astonishment "I can't believe you know that,"

"So, who's who?" she asks, well aware of the answer.

Viktor, reeling from the adreneline of being known by the most dominant up and comer, finds his playful side and tilts his head to the side, "What do you think?"

She smiles, narrowing her eyes at them, pretending to assess but well aware of the answer.

Jayce interrupts unaware of the building tension, "You were incredible today,"

"Thank you" Mel offers politely.

"I mean it, Mel, you were fucking luminous, I've never seen anything like it, it didn't even feel like tennis... Sky is our friend though, we felt-feel bad for her," Jayce stumbles through his praise.

"She's quite lovely, but not lovely enough for me to pull my punches,"

"And what could make thee Mel Medarda pull her punches?" Viktor poses.

"Death," she says lightly, smirk etched on her features, as she sips her cocktail. Viktor laughs, snickering uncharacteristically.

"I'll be seeing you at Stanford, Viktor?"

"How do you know that I'm going to Stanford?"

"I keep my ear to the ground, when it comes to things of concern,"

"What are things of concern exactly?" Viktor bit his lip, anxiety looming.

"Things like wunderkind coaches with the potential to revolutionise the sport," she glances at the two, piercing them with her gaze.

Viktor felt even hotter in the face if that was possible. "Ah,"

"I'm taking a gap year," Jayce offered.

"What? Do you need time to figure out your life purpose? Something tells me it might be right in front of you," she meant tennis of course, but that didn't stop Jayce's heartbeat from thundering against his ribcage.

"Couldn't the same be said of you? You could go pro right now if you wanted why the buffering period with school?" Viktor says.

"Hmm, athletes burn bright but they also burn fast, I don't want my only skill to be hitting a ball with a racket"

Ambessa walks up to them, paying no mind to the two boys entertaining her daughter, and touching Mel's shoulder lightly"'Mel, they want photos" Mel bids the two farewell and they gaze after her longingly.

"Now what?" they say to each other simultaneously. They grin. Viktor's smile falls first. "Shouldn't we wait for her?" Jayce asks, Viktor grimaces, "Won't we seem too desperate?"

"You're right," Jayce nods.

"We should just go" Viktor says.

"Yes, let's go," Jayce agrees.

Neither of them move.

An hour later they're seated at the love seat. Viktor absently, rolling his cane between his hands and Jayce spreading dip on a cracker. Mel walks by. Viktor sees her and alerts Jayce hitting him with the bottom of the cane. "Hey" Jayce yells at the same time that Viktor yells "Hi".

She looks over at them and laughs a little, "Hi" she says back, approaching them. "You guys are still here,"

"Yeah" Jayce says standing, "great party by the way,"

"Thank you very much... but don't you have a final tomorrow , shouldn't you be preparing or resting?"

"We'll be okay," Viktor asserts not so kindly. Mel enjoys the traces of harshness in his words. It indicates more lies beneath the surface.

"I wanted to get your opinion on my technique,"

"My opinion?" Mel huffs, "Her opinion?" Viktor asks, no one had ever entrenched on his territory of coaching Jayce Talis before, it felt invasive. Not unpleasantly so.

Viktor's eyes rake down Mel doused in the shine of the moon and the fairy lights strung all around the area, what could he thing to say to a walking daydream "Do you smoke?" is all he can accomplish.

"Cigarettes? No not at all, do you?" her words we asked with no malice and yet suddenly both Viktor and Jayce felt ashamed of their habits.

"Yes" they say mournfully as if they were scolded.

Jayce suggests they go down to the beach, checking in on Viktor and if he could manage the walk, Mel shows them a more accessible route. They walk and talk about their homes and where they came from. When they get to the beach, Jayce and Viktor recline on some beach chairs and Mel perches herself on a rock. The waves crash serenely behind them.

The tendrils of smoke from their cigarettes float around Mel, dancing on the air around her, wisping past her nose. All she can feel are their eyes on her, all she can smell is ash and salt.

Viktor, brings up Mel being a phenomenon of the sport and expressing confusiona and shock at her not going pro immediately.

Mel laughs and cites her philosophy on tennis, one she claims, Viktor does not understand, "You're too motivated by ambition and single-handedness, there are so many moving parts and key factors in tennis, even when its not one on one, its as collaborative as team-based sport, more so even, the beautiful balance of trust and disdain with the person right across from you, its intense, there's only one force in the world it resembles,"

Viktor and Jayce edge forwards, as pulled as in as the tide.

She looks out at the sea and says "love... Sky and I, the world faded when it was just us, chained to each other, to a set rhythm, we disappeared into the rules of the game and so did everyone watching we were all drawn together,"

"You screamed," Viktor acknowledged quietly, Mel turned to face him. She remained silent, "When you hit the winner...I'd never heard anything like it"

She looks down, with a smile, Viktor watches her lashes touch her cheek as her eyes flutter.

Mel then says she has to leave and Jayce asks if she has a Facebook, Mel's unaware of what that is but Viktor clarifies by saying that Jayce is asking for her number and so is he.

"Are you asking as a set or separately?"

Jayce and Viktor stutter through their responses then finally affirm that they're offers are seperate.

Mel shakes her head and tells them she's not a homewrecker.

"We're not exclusive," Viktor jokes, "We even sleep in different beds now, you couldn't make it worse," Jayce adds, teeth gleaming.

Mel just hums in respone, Viktor suggests she come hang out with them in their hotel room later. She smiles at them and walks off.

Later in Viktor and Jayce's hotel room, they're strewn across their beds, in nothing but their shorts because of the summer heat - Viktor's recently removed both his back brace and leg brace with Jayce's assistance.

Viktor is now certain Mel isn't coming. Jayce is still holding out hope. They are both still smoking.

As the conditions start to irritate Viktor, he scoffs very bitterly "Mel isn't coming, Jayce" which temporarily shushes his partner.

But right then is when a knock resounds quiet enough for both of them to think they hallucinated it until resounds again much louder.

Jayce throw on a crumpled dress shirt and doesn't bother to button it up, leaving his torso on display, Viktor chucks on his stanford t-shirt, they chuck their cigarettes clumsily and they both attempt to make the room look a little presentable before clambering over to the door and opening it.

Mel who was leaning on the door listening in on their conversation and giggling, pulls back with a sharp gasp but neither of them seem to notice.

Jayce says a curt "Hi," and promptly swallows. Viktor offers a "hey" a moment later, leaning on the doorframe.

They end up drinking beer sitting on the ground, Jayce and Viktor reveal their backstories, Mel probes them about their relationship to each other. She asks them about any potential girlfriends. Viktor reveals he hasn't had any then goes on to reveal Jayce's several unhappy exes - which Jayce refutes then reveals that Viktor's absence of history is due to a lack of trying "people generally flock to him, if he wanted to do fine he could," Jayce says ruffling Viktors hair. Viktor slaps his hand away languidly.

"So..." Mel starts moving to sit on her knees and lean closer to them, her voice is an entrancing lull "How often does this happen... going after the same girl?" she licks her lips gazing at them.

"Not as often as you'd think," Jayce says. "We usually have different types," Viktor agrees.

"So, I should be flattered?" Mel caresses her chest dramatically.

"I mean... Aren't you everybody's type," Viktor hums, chewing on his thumb.

There's a beat, a moment of comfortable quiet.

"What about the two of you?" Mel asks

"What do you mean?" Jayce asks,

Jayce abruptly understands her meaning and vehemently denies, While Viktor stays quiet a look of deep contemplation on his face.

Mel turns to Viktor and asks him what the look is for.

Jayce disrupts Viktor's attempts to tell her what went down only making Mel more curious. Jayce finally relents and Viktor tells the story of them technically hooking up when they were sixteen after getting drunk for the first time, they didn't have sex, they did things next to each other.

Mel laughs at the absurdity of it finding it endearing, she then realizes that there's no beer left.

Jayce and Viktor fearing the beer was the only thing keeping her there, look at each other frightened.

Mel stands, towering over them, in their admiration, they take note of the shortness of her shorts, her silky skin, the way her velour jacket had ridden up and exposed her midriff.

She thinks for a moment, her hands on her hips as she meanders briefly before sitting on the on the edge of where the two beds have been pushed together.

"Come here," she says.

"Which one of us?" before the words could completely stumble out of Viktor's mouth, Jayce had gotten up in a flash and sat by Mel's side, Viktor quickly followed.

They're close, together, only a little space between them. Jayce and Viktor's gazes are fixed on Mel. She glances between them, slithering her head closer to Jayce, their lips so close their breaths mingle, just as Jayce goes to close in, Mel playfully curves away. Her half-shut eyes finding Viktor.

She leans in, bit by bit, looking in his eyes then at his lips over and over, she kisses him first, he reciprocates immediately but only with his mouth too scared to make any other moves. But when she draws him in closer with a hand at his neck, which quickly evolves into both hands cupping his jaw, he slides his hand over her thigh and rubs circles into the soft flesh. Mel pulls back. It takes a moment for Viktor to collect himself, his eyes cracking open slowly, his mouth still open.

Jayce is closer than he was before when Mel turns back to him, he's taller, peering down at her, she kisses him, cupping his face, he deepens it immediately, he gently places his hand at her cheek gently caressing over her hair, tentatively caressing over the curls, then resting his hand at her neck. Mel pulls away again and faces forward, pushing her hair behind her shoulders.

Viktor and Jayce move intuitively, holding Mel's hair back together, and pressing long and slow kisses into her neck with kisses. She huffs a laugh for no reason in particular, but as the sensation starts to get to her, her face grows stern from the pleasure, and her breaths become short and sharp. Viktor and jayce kiss up and down her neck, nuzzling into her collarbone too. They were there way back up biting her ears, whispering sweet nothings. They reach her cheeks and pepper sweet long kisses across, Mel encourages them closer lightly grabbing their jaws and bringing them closer to her lips.

When all their lips meet, Viktor and Jayce pull back and laugh it off, Mel laughs to but brings them back quickly. Nodding at them, she draws them back in slowly, and all their mouths meet. Mel's hands are frantic, at their jaws, sliding down their chests, in Viktor's hair, on Jayce's thigh. Jayce breaks away, trailing down Mel's neck again with open mouthed kisses as he trails back to her lips, Viktor trails down, from her cheek to her collarbone. Mel brings them all back again. A fervent heated display between the three commences once more, she escapes, leaving the men to their own devices watching as they inhale each other but glance at her as they do, deriving as much pleasure from watching her as she is from watching them.

"Okay, I have to go to bed," Mel says, getting up and suddenly everyone involved felt much colder.

"But wait what about your number?" Viktor asks.

"I told you, I'm not a homewrecker,"

"Please" Jayce says.

Mel, dedicated to fair play, offers an ultimatum, if Jayce loses tomorrow's match, Jayce gets Mel's number, if he wins, Viktor gets it.

"What? How does that work?" Jayce splutters.

"It doesn't really, pinning coach and pupil against each other, doesn't really work out, but if you win Jayce that'll be because of Viktor's efforts and if you lose it'll be because Viktor wasn't a good enough guide... take it or leave it"

They both look at her not willing to protest

"Good luck, gentlemen, put on a good show for me," she stalks out of the room.

"I could throw the game" Jayce hums leaping to his feet, his words laced with jest.

"Don't you fucking dare," Viktor seethes slapping Jayce's erection making the taller man keel over and land back on the bed. Jayce flicks Viktor's ear in agitation.

The next morning, Jayce loses the match, in a very close game.

To be continued...

[graceofgondor]

what am i thinking about? oh nothing- just charlie and ginny dancing together in this deleted scene.

LIKE HELLO???

[tojicide]

ABOUT YOU. ♥︎ SYLUS QIN.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. it was easy to get lost in the whirlwind of your new roles as first-time parents, and somewhere along the way, you nearly forgot about the other titles you held—husband and wife. tonight, that changes. for good.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. fem!reader, husband + dad!sylus, fluff galore, themes of insecurity, pet names, praise, fondling, oral ( fem. receiving ), soft sex, missionary, unprotected, creampie, aftercare. references to his nightplumes card. loverboy sylus is very prominent in this one. 𝑤𝑐. 5k.

𝑛𝘰𝑤 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔. about you — the 1975.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Anticipation and anxiety were two sides of the same coin—at least you think so. 

Your heart pounded against your chest, the sound was a far cry from the peaceful silence that surrounded the extravagant lodge. Only the wind passing through managed to break that found quiet. 

Snowflakes slowly fell from the sky as you stepped out onto the wooden back deck, the brisk breeze threading through your hair in a way that forces a sharp chill down your spine. Goosebumps pricked at your skin, though you quickly cross your arms over your chest to remedy them. 

You were beginning to notice that it was almost too quiet. After all, by this time of night, you were accustomed to only hearing the sounds of your infant’s quiet fussing in between the soft static of the baby monitor. 

This was different. Different because it was the first time you were away from your daughter from the moment she was born, but also because it was the first time you were truly given alone time for yourself. It was a rarity these days, and you weren’t quite sure how to indulge in it. 

However, the quiet, careful sounds of your husband’s footsteps approaching you from behind quickly gave you an idea as to how you could. 

Sylus’s scent served as soothing balm, the rich essense of his cologne accompanied by a smell that was uniquely him wafted through the air around you. 

“Aren’t you cold, sweetie?” he quietly asks you, his hands coming up to run along the bared skin of your arms. 

You briefly glance over your shoulder, covering one of his hands with one of your own. “Hm? No, no… I like the cold.”

The fabric of your dress did very little to conceal you from the elements, though it was a sacrifice worth making in your opinion. It wasn’t often that you had the opportunity nor the time to dress up for any occasion apart from the mock tea parties that your babbling daughter puts on for both your husband and yourself.

“I mean…” your words trail, and you find yourself leaning back into his broad chest. “I know that I’m not exactly dressed for this climate. I just wanted to try and look nice tonight. For you, for this… for… for us.”

His hands smooth over the curve of your elbows as his eyes trace the noticeable bumps that the weather had brought to you. Pressing a longing kiss on the back of your head, he opts to wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you even tighter against his chest. “You don’t have to try, sweetie. You look absolutely beautiful no matter what you wear.”

You slowly nod your head, your gaze moving over the vibrant hues of light that emerged from the darkness of the sky. The Northern Lights. Aurora Borealis. It was beautiful, casting faint shadows over your conjoined form as the two of you admired the way the hues blend together.

“I know, I just… I don’t know,” you stammer, knowing that your words must sound like a jumble of incomprehensible words. “It’s been a while since I’ve dressed up for anything, since… since you’ve seen me like this.” 

Your temple is warmed up by the press of his lips, and you find yourself unconsciously leaning into it, earning you another peck. “I just… didn’t want you to forget, I guess.”

“Sweetheart.” All you could feel was his hold tighten on you ever so slightly, lowering his head just enough to brush his cheek against the soft skin of your own. “Do you think I’ve forgotten about you?”

For a moment, you were stumped. You weren’t sure how to respond to that question, even though you had inspired it to be asked in the first place. Everything has changed, and motherhood has had impacts on your life that you weren’t initially anticipating. It was tough and unsure at times, yet so rewarding and beautiful. 

Guilt set into your heart. You hadn’t meant to bring down the mood of your getaway before it had truly started, but you knew that the feelings you had needed to be lifted from your chest. Now was as good of a time as any.

“I don’t know,” you breathe, tilting your head to rest it against his. “I just… I’m afraid that we’ve forgotten about each other. That we’ll never be able to be like we were before. I feel like a mess all the time, I am a mess all the time.”

Carefully, Sylus takes a hold of your chin to give himself access to your eyes. Minutes could have passed, or perhaps it was only mere seconds, but you hardly felt the passage of time with those softened red eyes staring into yours and his hand running along your arm. 

“I don’t think that at all,” he states, his voice still soft yet resolute. “Change isn’t a bad thing, sweetie. Not change of this nature. We’re still learning. It’s only natural that we lose our footing for a small while.”

“You don’t think so?” Your question only has a split second to hang in the air before your words cut it off, and the shake of your head solidifies it. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’m just… overthinking.”

“Then I will over explain.” His thumb brushes along the curve of your chin, his softened red eyes taking in the appearance of you with snowflakes in your hair and on your cheeks. “My heart is so full of you that I can no longer call it mine. For that reason alone, you will never be forgotten by me.”

“But…”

Sylus shakes his head, kissing away your worry with a quick peck of his lips. “There are no ‘buts’ here, baby. There is nothing in this world that could ever drive me away from you, from the family that we have created together. Not busyness, not sleep deprivation, not anything.”

Relief must have been the first emotion to cross your features, because it almost immediately brought a hint of a smile to Sylus’s lips. Overthinking was a habit of yours, one that you couldn’t evade no matter how hard you tried. But he was perfect. When was he not?

“Not even me smelling like baby spit up half of the time?” you tentatively ask, a familiar humor lacing your words. 

He chuckles, the sound a deep rumble omitting from his chest. “Has the scent driven you away from me?” 

Your answer is almost immediate. “No.”

Sylus runs his hand over the back of your head, cradling it in his gentle grasp. “Well, there’s your answer.” He pecks your forehead. “Motherhood has looked good on you from the moment our little sweetie started to grow.”

“Little sweetie?” you ask. “That’s new.”

“It’s… something Luke and Kieran came up with. You’re my sweetie, so by default, she is… little sweetie.” A moment later, he clears his throat. “Don’t go telling the twins that I’ve developed a liking for the name. They may begin to venture out into unthinkable territory.”

You raise an eyebrow and faintly muse, “Maybe we can all call you big sweetie.”

He clicks his tongue with a squeeze to your hips. “You’re lucky there aren’t people around for miles, baby. Having that material in the wrong hands could be detrimental.”

Once again, a comfortable silence falls over the two of you. He unwraps his arms to reach for the zipper of his coat, slipping it off his broad frame to drown you in the thick, warm fabric instead. He smiles to himself, wrapping his arms around your middle once more as he dips his head just enough for his chin to rest on the crook of your shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, your saccharine voice filtering into the soothing ambiance of the winter night. 

He merely shakes his head, turning just enough to press a soft kiss on the side of your neck. “No need to thank me.”

You knew that he’d never accept your thanks, but you felt the need to say it regardless. His reassurance, his way with his words, his selfless gestures that were unending and unconditional—he deserved to hear that. You knew it. 

Tilting your head up, you can’t help but huff out a laugh that turns to condensation in the cool air. “You have snow in your hair, you know.”

Sylus smiles, raising an eyebrow as he lowers his head once more. “Help me.”

And you do just that, raising your hand to shake away some of the pesty fallen snow that had nestled in his silver locks of hair. You were sure that you would have had some too if he wasn’t constantly touching your head.

With that, he places his hands on either side of you on the wooden banister that outlined the luxurious deck. He rests his chin on top of your head, his eyes reflecting the green and purple hues of light that nature put on for the two of you. 

After a long stretch of peace and quiet, you hear the faint sound of scratching in the snow. When you look down, you find Sylus dragging his finger through the fallen snow on the banister to draw two small pictures. 

“What are you drawing?” you ask.

He smiles, kissing your cheek as he reveals the two semi-finished works of art to your gaze. With his pointer finger, he draws two carets on one of the circles. “A mother kitten,” he murmurs, drawing two smaller carets on the tinier circle. “And her baby kitten.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re silly.”

“Silly?” he soon echoes. Evidently, your habit of censoring your language around your daughter has even bled into your conversations with adults. It was a tooth rotting-ly adorable habit you had that Sylus adored. “That’s an interesting way to describe a man in love.”

Your skin tingles in the wake of his fingertips brushing your hair away from your neck, his other hand coming up to rest on the curve of your shoulder. “Oh? What would a better word have been?”

“Hmm…” He kisses your cheek. “Enamored.” He kisses your jaw. “Smitten.” He kisses your neck. “Besotted.” He kisses the curve of your shoulder. “Lovestruck.” 

A hearty laugh consumes you as you inch away from his ticklish kisses, your hand coming up to rest on the back of his head. “Okay, okay!”

He chuckles too, cupping your chin to turn your head to face him once more. “Though I must say, my original verbiage was the most accurate.” His breath was warm and comforting as it found your forehead, and the longing press of his lips followed it. “I am in love. With you, with the life that we created together, with the life that you have given me. Just… in love.”

Your smile is far too wide to hide now, a sight that threatens to bring your husband to his knees, right here on the snowy porch. “I love you too.” And somehow, your words still paled in comparison to the sweetness of your grin, the curve of your lips and the crinkle of your eyes. “Hey… aren’t you cold now?”

Entirely distracted, Sylus buries his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent that always managed to make his legs feel weak without fail. “Mm-mm. Not really,” he murmurs, one of his large hands curving around your waist. “Not when I have my beautiful wife to keep me warm.”

There was that damn smile of yours again. So gorgeous, so natural, so… you. If lovesickness could be medically diagnosed, he would be the first known patient without a doubt. It wasn’t until you spoke again that Sylus blinks three times in a row, forcing his eyes to meet yours once again.

“Not really isn’t a total no, though,” you simply say.

His thumb brushes away the few water droplets that the melting snow had left on your cheeks that are warm with a blush he’s sure the cold weather hadn’t produced alone. “In that case, what would be your preferred method of warming us up?”

“Well…” you say with a dreamy sigh, turning around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I think I saw a fireplace in the master bedroom when we sat down our suitcases.”

(Correction: Sylus carried and sat the bags down, and you watched with lovestruck eyes as you marveled over how this man could be even more perfect. It honestly worked best that way.)

“I like the way you think, sweetie.” 

In one swift motion, he scoops you up off the deck and carries you to the sliding glass door with one of his arms while his free hand reaches for the door handle. Pulling it open, he walks inside, but he has no clear intent of setting you down.

“Hey,” you say, poking his cheek. “I have two working feet, you know.”

He smiles, kissing your finger while his free hand expertly works at the straps of your heels. One by one, they fall onto the hardwood floor as the two of you make your way to the bedroom.

“I know,” is all he replies with.

“So… why haven’t you set me down?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Just because my beautiful woman has two feet doesn’t mean she should be expected to use them,” he murmurs, crouching down to turn on the electric fireplace in the room. “Maybe I enjoy being your in-home transportation service.”

You chuckle. “Is that so?”

He can only nod, peppering a few kisses along your cheek that was now illuminated by the warm lights flickering inside of the fireplace. “It is.”

Sylus takes a seat on the edge of the bed, setting you sideways in his lap as he holds you close to his chest. Your head finds its familiar home on his shoulder, and he tilts his own to lean against yours. 

One of his hands settles on your back while the other runs long strides along your legs, the chilly feeling of his wedding ring gliding along your skin makes your muscles involuntarily tense. 

A nearly silent laugh spilled from his lips, his hand slipping beneath your closed thighs so that the metallic band would warm up. His eyes flit to you, the way your skin glows in the hue that the fire is casting onto the two of you. 

You were a sight for sore eyes. You were so perfect that he was inclined to believe that you could have been a figment of his imagination, a physical embodiment of his deepest desires. But you were here, in his arms. His wife. The mother of his child. 

Every lifetime with you had led him to this moment, and he would do it all over again if it meant that you were his. Because here, in the world that you two created, you were real. You were here. All that he has ever wanted, all that he could ever want—it’s you. 

Tears glossed over his eyes and he hadn’t even noticed. His hand gave your thigh a small squeeze, his head turning just enough to kiss your forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “So are you.” After a beat of silence, you turn in his lap to face him. “I’m warmed up now. Are you?”

He nods with a single jerk of his chin. “I am.”

Shifting around, you move to straddle his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck, and his hands settle on your hips. “I think it’s getting too warm in here.”

Sylus chuckles, giving your sides a gentle brush of his thumbs. “Are you suggesting I take you back outside and leave you to the elements? You’ll catch a cold, sweetie. We don’t want that, do we?”

You shake your head with a huff. “No, we don’t. But… there are other ways of cooling off you know.” 

To emphasize your point, your fingers find their way to the buttons of his shirt, slowly and tentatively popping them open one by one. His eyebrows raise, watching your expression as inch after inch of his toned torso is bared to your eyes. 

Curving a hand around your waist, he pinches the ribbon tying your dress together in between his thumb and forefinger. He inches closer—close enough for you to feel his breath on your lips—until he speaks. “Can I?”

Without hesitation, you nod and give him your permission. In turn, he slowly tugs on the fabric, watching the way your dress loosens and how it slowly begins to fall down your shoulders. 

Your eyes meet, and a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth as you notice the rosy hue that crept up onto Sylus’s ears and cheeks. It was something you never got tired of seeing, that blush of his. 

It was almost comical how his eyes lit up the moment your chest was revealed to his hungry gaze, and his fingertips gently brush over the fabric of your bra that covers your nipple. 

“Is this new?” he asks you, giving both of your breasts a firm knead.

You nod, placing your hands on his shoulders as the straps slowly fall down your arms. “Yeah. You like?”

“I love,” he replies, lowering his head to kiss along the valley of your breasts. A low groan leaves his mouth as his tongue laves over your skin, tasting you for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’ve missed these, pretty girl.”

His hands work at the clasp of your bra, undoing it in one swift moment before slowly tugging the garment down and off your arms. A sudden gasp leaves you as his lips wrap around your nipple, his tongue swirling around the pointed peak. 

Your hand snakes up the nape of his neck and into his hair, earning a deep groan from his mouth that vibrated against your skin. You could feel his cock quickly hardening beneath your bottom, the fabric of his slacks doing very little to conceal his more than obvious arousal. 

“Sy,” you whine, your hips instinctively working to grind your clothed sex over his bulge. You needed more, needed to feel him in a way you haven’t in so long. 

His hands latch onto your hips, halting your movements as he presses a faint kiss on your nipple after he releases it. “Don’t squirm,” he states, his voice low and full of command. “I need to take my time with you.”

And you believe him. This far surpassed want for him, this was a need. His need. His tone leaves very little room for argument or doubt, no matter how much you wish it did. Another sound of impatience and need leaves you as he sucks your neglected peak into his mouth, his iron grip still holding you still in his lap. 

In one swift, dizzying motion, he lowers you onto the bed. Your back hits the plush comforter, and he shifts to settle between your legs. He kneels on the mattress, shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt that you had begun to remove earlier. 

His hands then pull your dress down your legs, letting the fabric slip onto the floor near the bed. His lips press to your ankle as he looks down at you, his hands mapping out the skin of your thighs and calves as he hoists your legs up until the heels of your feet rest on his shoulders. 

Blinking twice, you feel a heavy sense of anticipation swirling in your lower stomach. You reach out, hooking a finger inside of his belt loop to try and tug him closer. He doesn’t budge. 

“Sylus,” you whine.

He can only grin, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your inner legs—your calves, your knees, your thighs—until he flattens onto his stomach. “I’ve never known you to be so impatient, baby.” 

You huff, tilting your head to the side. “And I’ve never known you to hold out on me.”

Clicking his tongue, he nuzzles his cheek against the warm skin of your inner thigh. “Holding out? No, that can’t be right.” His voice has a teasing lilt, one that would make you want to say something snarky in reply, but his mouth quickly distracts you from the idea. 

His lips leave soft kisses along the damp fabric of your panties, pointing his tongue to leave light kitten licks around your clit. You squirm, but his grip on your hips returns to keep you in place. 

“I’ve left my poor wife so pent up,” he whispers, ending his sentence with an open-mouthed kiss on your cunt. His fingers hook beneath the waistband, tugging them down your legs just enough for them to dangle around your ankles. “It’s only right I pay you a personal visit.”

And you almost scream when his mouth meets your pussy directly, dragging the muscle up and down to gather your slick on his tongue. He groans unabashedly, grasping onto your thighs to yank you even closer to his hungry mouth. 

He sucks your clit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. Your hands fly to his hair, hips bucking off the mattress as much as his grip on your thighs would allow them to. Grasping onto his soft silver locks, you nearly lose yourself when he fucks his tongue inside of you. 

“Sylus!” you pant, thighs pressing in on his head as he groans. “I—I can’t—I’m going to...”

Your warning is cut off by yet another whine, one that his groaning brought on. The hot sensations of his mouth and the trembling vibration of his voice stimulates your sensitive pearl, his words limited to coos of “I know, I know” that force you to come with a particularly hard grasp on his hair. 

All the while, he slows his movements, opting to give you faint licks as you come down from the intensity of your orgasm. A sigh of relief leaves your lips, and your smile returns with it. 

Kissing your mound one final time, he crawls up to meet you once more, his forearm bracing his weight as he towers over you. He chuckles as you bring your hand up to wipe away the wetness on his chin, prompting him to capture your wrist and kiss your palm. 

And when your hands then run down his toned torso to reach the belt of his slacks, a strained laugh leaves him. “Ah. Do you still feel that I’m holding out on you, sweetie?” 

“No,” you answer, undoing his belt and popping open the button of his trousers. “I just want to feel you.”

Sylus smiles, his biceps tightening up as he lowers himself just enough to leave a longing kiss on your lips. “I can do that for you, baby.”

As he begins to undress, all you can feel is a ball of nerves settling inside of you. You haven’t been intimate in this way in what felt like years, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little nervous. After all, much has changed since the last time and…

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, as if he had noticed the worry set into your beautiful face. “Sweetheart,” he softly whispers to snap you out of your thoughts. “I need you and your beautiful mind to stay with me. Can you do that?”

Sucking in a short breath, you nod your head. “I can do that.”

Kicking away the last of his clothing, he settles in between your parted thighs once more. “Spread your legs a little more for me, there you go.” 

His hands map out the dips and curves of your body, settling back onto his forearm beside your head while the other runs along his aching length. He runs his tip along your folds, gathering your slick for lubricant. And then, he slides his arm beneath your back, holding you firmly against his chest. 

“Hold onto me,” he murmurs, his breath hitching as the head of his cock catches your entrance. You listen, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

His cock slowly nudges inside of you, stretching you open with a sense of familiarity. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red welts in your wake. He keeps his movements slow and steady, easy rolls of his hips to fuck you long and deep, letting you feel every inch of him. 

“Feeling alright, sweetie?” he asks you, peppering soft, reverent kisses along your jaw and cheek as he begins to find a steady pace. 

You quickly nod, one of your hands delving into his hair. “Yes,” you breathe, clenching around him like a vice. “Feels so good, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“I’ve missed you so much, pretty,” he whispers, kissing your skin from your cheek to your jaw to your neck, his plush lips brushing against you in time with each snap of his hips. “You feel so perfect. I love you. I love you so much.”

His mouth finds yours in a sloppy kiss, one that was messy and disorganized but undoubtedly perfect. A whirlwind of whimpers and gasps leave the both of you, but the feeling of your thundering heartbeats pounding against your chests is what grounded you both. His hand next to your head strokes over your hair while the other grasps onto your hip. 

“I love you too,” you say against his lips, your nails on his back, holding him impossibly closer to you. 

One of Sylus’s hands shoots up, grasping firmly onto the headboard in an attempt to hold himself back. He needed this to be perfect—for you, his perfect wife who only deserved his best. 

You can feel the way his back muscles contort in the new position, prompting you to grasp onto him even more. “I’m close,” you manage.

His fingertips dig into the wooden frame enough for the sound of splintering to rip through the air, but Sylus pays it no mind. His attention is on you, the softness of your eyes and the parting of your lips. 

And when you clench around him and your sweet sounds fill the air, he knows that holding back is no use. It’s impossible. His pace staggers as he chases his own orgasm. Tensing up inside of you, you feel the way his seed floods inside of your inner channels, filling you up with the proof of his undying love for you.

For a long moment, all you can do is hold each other close. You breathe heavily into each other’s warm skin, exchanging stolen kisses and the smallest of smiles. 

Sylus finally releases the headboard with a huff, prompting you to tilt your head up and look at the damage. A gasp leaves you, your brows furrowing together. “Sylus!”

His eyebrow quirks up as he follows your gaze, finding that he had, in fact, splintered the wood under his vice-like grip. He sucks on his teeth, turning to face you again. “It’s alright. It’s just a… happy accident.” 

“A happy accident?” you echo, watching as he makes his way over to the en suite. “This bed frame probably cost a fortune.”

When he returns, he has a damp cloth in his hand and both of your bath robes. He settles between your legs once more, carefully wiping up the mess that he had made of you. “Mm-hmm. That it did.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

He shrugs, wiping himself clean before disposing of the cloth in the laundry hamper. He then wraps you up in the silken robe, following suit for himself. “Because I bought it just for us, sweetie.”

A gasp of surprise leaves your kiss-bitten lips as he scoops you up into his arms and walks you both towards the kitchen. “You did? But…we’ve never even thought of staying here until now.” 

“When we first started dating, I ensured that the furniture at each of my properties was well equipped to handle two guests,” he states as if it were obvious. “Though now, I should begin the furnishing process again to make plenty of room for three.” 

Your smile widens. “You’re such a softie.”

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The following morning, sunlight cut through the maroon curtains that drape over the gaping windows of the bedroom. You rolled over onto your side, only to be met with Sylus’s back. 

Your eyes finally crack open, your fingertips slowly tracing over the scratches that you had left behind last night. Then, you snake a hand around his waist. He places his hand on top of yours to give it a lazy squeeze. 

“Good morning, sweetie,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep. 

“Good morni—”

Your voice was cut off by the sound of Sylus’s cell phone ringing on the bedside table. With a groan, he reaches out, tapping on the pesky green button to answer a call from Luke and Kieran. 

He winces at the sound of their loud and excited voices, rolling onto his back to throw an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. 

“Boss!” their voices cut through the speaker at the same time. “We came up with something that has little sweetie cracking up! Wanna hear it?”

“Go ahead.”

“Watch this, watch this,” Luke says into the receiver as if Sylus could see their escapades through the voice call. “Your mommy is the original sweetie, you are the little sweetie, and you daddy is the…” His voice cuts off for dramatic effect, before it blares through the speaker once again. “Big sweetie!”

You find yourself laughing at the sound of your daughter cracking up over the line, evidently having a great time with Uncle Luke and Uncle Kieran and their jokes that only an infant could find humorous. Sylus glances down at you with a glare, as if he were silently asking you a question.

You shake your head. “What? I didn’t tell them anything.”

𝑛𝘰𝘵𝑒. not that anyone asked but i’ve been working on my first series on this app and i’m motivated to write for the first time in forever :,) it’s for love and deepspace (of course) and it revolves around caleb. i’m lowkey nervous to post thoooo i might try and get a few beta readers to see if it’s any good. anywho thank you for reading, rb/comment if you enjoyed <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[nezuscribe]

you should be here.

you really shouldn’t be here.

but you were a good friend, maybe too good a friend one would argue, and one of your girls heard about this underground gig (boxing, fighting?) going on and roped you into going.

and knowing you, this was way out of your comfort range. she was shocked you agreed to it, but you were tired of being perceived as the sheltered on and decided to bite the bullet and tag along.

but now you realize that you should’ve just stayed home and rewatched some stupid show.

because this place was giving you all sorts of signals to just get out.

it was in what seemed like a dingy warehouse that could only be accessed through some sketchy alley. you truly have no idea how she found this place and your betting that it wasn’t some ad she told you she saw on someone’s story.

the vast room was barely lit, with only a few lights flickering as they struggled to stay on. you felt like you’d catch an undiscovered disease if you sat anywhere and opted to stand, but that was another issue.

despite how destitute this place seemed to be, it was packed.

there were so many people standing near the ring, everybody yelling praises or shouts of anger as somebody took a punch. you could hear skin hitting skin, could hear the breaking of tissues and bones even from where you were.

your friend dragged you by the arm, seeming as if there was no worry about this place, and it was too late to go back even though the alarms in your head were going off.

fuck, you start thinking, what is this place? what if you bump into someone weird? what if the cops come? what if the location gets leaked? what would happen to you two? what if….

your mind trails off as your friend wiggles her way through an empty spot, bringing the two of you closer to the ring.

you look at the fighters, mouth going dry at the sight.

one of the fighters, the one facing you, seemed bloodied to no return. his eye was black and weeks shut, nose dripping with blood. his face was salted with bruises, his body sagging as the other fighter, the one with his back to you, took another fighting stance.

“he’s who i wanted to see,” bri mutters excitedly, pointing her finger to the fighter with white hair, “i’ve heard he’s really good,”

you nod slowly, looking around in a skittish way. you knew you should’ve said no, but you really cleave no choice but to support her and her dangerous side quests.

he plants another fist to the injured one’s face, making him stumble back as the white haired fighter angles his body sideways, letting you two get a look at his side profile.

he seemed fine, a little bruising on the cheek but nowhere near the damage of the other guy. he must be as good as bri says you guess.

the people around you hoot and holler, pushing you further into on of the poles as you wince in discomfort, your face twisting in pain a little as some of the men behind you push forward with no concept of personal space.

you look over at bri but she’s just as engaged, shouting for the white haired guy to continue beating the other man up in ways that could only be described as primal and very, very illegal.

it’s only a few more minutes before the match is ended and the two fighters are pulled away from each other, the battered one looking like he was one punch away from becoming limp.

the yells around you grow louder and louder, the sound rattling around in your head. you wince, trying to smile for bri as she jumps up and down. you know this is only the beginning of the night and can’t afford to bring the energy down.

the white haired one turns around, raising his hands as he asks for the noise to grow louder, a smile on his face as his bandaged hands curl into fists, one pumped victoriously in the air.

but that’s not what takes you by surprise.

your eyes widen in shock when you see his face, mouth dropping almost comically when you realize this isn’t a random street fighter,

but the nerdy boy who sits next to you in your neuroanatomy class.

and judging by the way gojo looks around until he sees you, the proud smile on his face faltering for a second before his eyes cloud with utter confusion,

he wasn’t expecting to see you here either.

[bonefanatic]

"Careful", you snag the boy's shirt before he can step into the road. The boy's head snaps away from his phone and towards you.

He looks pissed but you watch his face shift into a blank sort of stare.

"Sorry-", you release the grip on his shirt, shifting the carrier on your hip, "you should pay more attention when you're this close to the road."

You offer him a weak smile and he blinks up at you, then turns and scurries across the road, focused back onto his phone. Sighing, you adjust baby carrier and begin walking again.

The walk isn't a horrible one, ten minutes is nothing on the half hour walk it takes you to get to work. It's just a little more difficult with a awkward sized baby carrier.

Typically you'd take the train, but you need to get to the grocery store before it gets dark. The air is already chilly but the forecast calls for snow and the baby doesn't need that.

-

The store is a little warmer when you step inside and you even manage to snag a buggy.

The store is relatively quiet and you find what you need to...except for the box of baby rice towards the back on a shelf you can't reach.

You groan softly, glancing at the snoozing babe. She loves those...

You stand on your very tiptoes, grabbing at air. Then, a hand reaches up and grabs them. You turn, about to ask them for the box, when the man passes the box to you.

"Here, you looked like you needed help." He holds the box out with one hand, running his fingers through his black hair with the other.

You blink curiously at him, then take the box.

"Thank you so much, hon." You grin, placing the item in your cart and hurrying to check out.

-

The walk is still cold, despite the sun barely starting to set. You shiver, somehow managing to carry the groceries and the baby carrier at the same time.

About half a mile from your apartment, you bump into a chest. Dropping a few bags and praying the eggs aren't in them.

"Sorry about that", a masculine voice mumbles above you. You tilt your head up to meet the eyes of a boy a little younger than the one who helped you before. He tilts his head, a tuft of white hair hanging in his eyes.

"Would you like some help?" He starts grabbing the dropped bags before you can answer. He makes a gesture for you to lead the way.

"I'm Jason, by the way. We live in the same complex."

You swear you've never seen him before, but maybe that's just you.

-

That night, groceries put away and a baby snuggled happily against your chest, you lay in bed.

Oblivious to several pairs of eyes watching you and the bickering from the rooftops above.

"Ummi spoke to me today, with the baby!" Damian speaks.

"Yeah, well I helped ma with her groceries!" Jason gives him a playful shove.

"Well, the baby smiled at me!" Dick jabs a thumb at his chest triumphantly.

"All of you hush!" Tim speaks up, crouched next to Duke, eyes focused on a familiar window.

Bruce looms nearby, caught up his daydream where he's the sweater wrapped so tightly around you. Someday.

Someday sooner than you think.

[ink-n-shadow]

The 141 with a girl that cums quick :( I wanna listen to them make fun of em for it and teaseeeeee

(as a girl who cums quick, i feel like this request was made for me)

THAT QUICK?

𝜗𝜚 the one where the CoD men find it cute how quickly you cum

𝜗𝜚 characters: simon "ghost" riley, john "soap" mactavish, john price, kyle "gaz" garrick 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), reader has afab genetalia and uses she/her, oral sex (reader!receiving), thigh riding, anal, some degredation, some praise, pet names

simon riley is fisting the bedsheets between white knuckles as his hips stutter in their rhythm, the feeling of your warm velvet walls constricting around him at just the second sink of his thick cock into. “already? do i not fuck you ‘nough, baby? cummin’ two thrusts in ‘nd i haven’t even touched your little clit” as if he doesn’t have you folded perfectly in half beneath him, your feet almost at your ears and hands scrabbling at his forearms at the way the tingling begins forming again in the pit of your stomach at simon’s words. a mocking pout graces his lips as his big brown eyes (heavy lidded and drooping with how pussydrunk he is) flutter up to meet yours, his cock twitching when he sees the way your cloudy gaze is on him. “y’wanna come again? can feel this pretty cunt squeezin’ ‘round me—s’okay, sweet’eart. go ‘head, then. lemme feel it,” he’s breathing down your neck as his thumb finally eases firm circles around your hot wet clit, easily milking your second of many highs

johnny mactavish is tightening the grip that his fingers have around your hips and outer thighs the second he feels the tension in your body snap, nearly melding his mouth to your cunt the second your orgasm hit and the taste of you flooded his tastebuds. god, he’d barely even started, only having wormed his long tongue inside of your dripping slit before you had pawed at his head and brokenly begged him to let you come. “barely started eatin’, lass—aye, stop fuckin’ squirmin’. yer interruptin’ my meal,” he mutters wetly against your cunt as he lets a wad of spit drip from his lips, letting the saliva pool on the hood of your clit before laving his tongue over it in lazy circles. it’s enough to have your back bowing off the bed again, thighs squeezing tighter around his head as you babble incoherently enough to make johnny chuckle with his tongue swirling through your insides. “s’that right? y’gonna come for me again? already? just ‘cus i touched you right—” the wet gasp you let out at the way his tongue presses sinfully against your clit has his cock growing impossibly harder in his boxers “—here? go on, then. use my tongue, pup.”

john price is bringing a hand down against the already red and raised skin of your right asscheek once he notices the way your rhythm grows sloppy, his thigh growing wetter and thus making you slip and slide a bit easier. “atta girl,” he praises warmly as his hand moves to grip at the heated flesh, trying to soothe the burn he’d just inflicted and (knowingly) angling your hips enough that your clit bumps against his corded muscles with ease. he starts hushing your hiccuped whines by burying your face into the crook of his neck, letting him control your pace and movements with two fistfuls of your ass. “one orgasm ‘nd yer already dumb? haven’t even spread you out on my cock yet, sweetheart,” john murmurs in your ear, his words paired with the way he makes you filthily grind your slippery clit against his thigh enough to have you clawing at his forearms once again. “so easy to make you finish, poppet. just a couple swipes against that little clit of yours, and yer just gushin’, innit right?”

kyle garrick is practically brain dead when he’s only two (and a half) thrusts inside of your ass, and you’re twitching around him, cumming basically untouched. like, literally has to stop himself with a hand on your hip and the other hand holding himself up on the headboard, chuckling softly to hide the way his voice wavers. “c-christ, pretty girl—got you trained that well, don’t i? such a good girl f’me, baby. don’t be shy now—gimme another one, yeah?” before he’s bullying himself back inside of your hole, using the hand he had on your hip to gather your wrists and pin them to the small of your back. it doesn’t take long before he’s moving his hand from the headboard and snaking it between your quivering thighs, stuffing two of his fingers into your neglected cunt and smirking at the way he can feel you flutter around him. “greedy girl—but you’re so easy to please, huh? i can feel you twitchin’ around my fingers, y’gonna come again? go ‘head, princess.”

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[moonstruckme]

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.” 

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?” 

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic gives you a kind smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you. 

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red. 

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you. 

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head. 

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her. 

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?” 

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder. 

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin. 

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought. 

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks you. 

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head. 

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests. 

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.” 

“Do you feel sick?” 

“Not really.” 

“Just try. It helped last time.” 

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed. 

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.” 

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I just don’t like this.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Spencer?” 

“Hm?” 

“I really feel like I messed things up.” 

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm. 

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?” 

“It just…it feels like…” 

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity. 

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.” 

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.” 

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps. 

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.” 

“I’m just an intern.” 

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.” 

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.” 

“I don’t feel very well.” 

“Are your eyes still closed?” 

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?” 

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is. 

“Try closing them.” 

“Oh. This is better, thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.”

[pseudowho]

Full

Nanami Kento treats his pregnant wife like the goddess she is.

Warnings: 18+, relentlessly fluffy sex

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You were thoroughly fed-up. About as pregnant as you could possibly be, you spent your days in permanent tiredness; belly too heavy and round, and hips too sore to be comfortable in any position overnight, you knew your wonderful husband Kento would take the aches and pains from you if he could.

Lying in bed on your side, pillows wedged under your bump, between your legs, and behind your back, Kento reached a reassuring hand out to stroke your waist as you grumbled to yourself; a full hour in bed now and no chance at sleep. Holding your legs together to support your aching hips, you heaved yourself up sideways, feeling your bones and muscles creak in protest. With a lump in your throat and tears burning in your eyes, you sat on the side of the bed to gather yourself.

You heard the bed creak behind you, and soft footsteps padded round the bedroom towards you. Warm, large hands cupped your cheeks and temples, stroking you gently. You leaned forwards, resting your nose and lips against his lower tummy, nuzzling and planting soft kisses there.

"I'm sorry. You can't get any sleep with me thrashing around. I can go to the spare room if you like," you reassured Kento. You felt his disapproval rumble through his abdomen.

"Don't ever apologise. I'm sorry you're so uncomfortable. For what it's worth, you're doing an amazing job. Not long left, I'm sure. We can get you through it. I'll run you a bath."

You hummed your approval, his hand lingering in yours as he walked towards the bathroom. You heard various containers being clicked, and the bath water beginning to run, before Kento headed back to you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He grasped your hands and helped you to stand, before helping you to remove your pyjama bottoms.

You felt pathetic, useless, ugly, watching your gorgeous husband help you undress. As if reading your mind, he kissed his way playfully up your legs, blew a raspberry on your bump, and pulled you to him.

"You are just as lovely, if not lovelier than you've ever been. Watching you grow our baby has been a total delight and I want you to know that I still find you completely irresistible." You scoffed at him, dubious, puffy-ankled and tearful. He grasped your chin gently and pulled you to look up at him.

"I mean it," he said, voice low and so sincere you felt your eyes prick with tears. Sniffling, you rubbed your nose. "Come on. Your bath should be about ready."

Kento led you to the bath, and held your hands as you stepped in and lowered your body, sighing as the almost too hot water sank into your aching hips. Letting out a satisfied hum, you lay back in the scented water, looking at your swollen breasts and belly rising like islands out of the water. Kento watched you fondly for a moment, before slipping away to the kitchen. You faintly heard the click of the kettle, and the clinking of mugs.

Eyes closed, and slowly inhaling the steam, you watched your belly roll and jump, as your baby tumbled inside it. Stroking your tummy, you didn't notice Kento returning with a cup of tea for you. He knelt by the side of the bath, chin on one arm, as he gently splashed water over your moving bump. When his heavy hand rested atop your bump, fingers tip-tapping, your baby stopped as if listening. Kento chuckled.

"Only moving for mama again? Hello, sweetie. We can't wait to meet you." A moment of still, before Kento received a pronounced thump against his fingers. Kento continued to softly brush water over your belly and breasts, watching you intently, utterly besotted, believing with absolute certainty that he would walk through fire for you and your unborn baby.

You felt Kento's eyes bore into you, and you shifted uncomfortably, still feeling like a shadow of yourself, body taken over by something wholly undesirable. However, judging by Kento's gradually darkening eyes as he scanned your body, wet and full, he certainly did not feel the same. You felt your heart squeeze as his fingertips grazed ever so lightly against your nipples, which instantly tightened and pebbled. Kento's mouth watered.

It hadn't been his intention to become so aroused by you. His sole priority had been your comfort, to make you feel good in your body, but he felt his pyjamas growing tighter and tighter as he watched your body in the water, a Romantic-era goddess who deserved to be awash in flowers and adoration. Biting his lip, Kento mentally shook himself off, not at all wanting to bother you with his desire, knowing you were uncomfortable and exhausted, until--

"Kento, I...feel like as much as I want you right now, I just...I--" you hesitated, stumbling on your words as he frowned lightly at you. You reached a hand over the lip of the bath to stroke his bare chest as you continued, "All I mean is, in my current state, there is nothing I could possibly do to make...to make me...an attractive experience for you." You finished weakly, your words falling flat as Kento's dark eyes continued to stare you down, now hungry and, apparently, stubbornly determined to prove you wrong.

Kento hummed to himself again, remaining, as always, a man of few words. "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes," he mused, "because all I see is the love of my life, beautifully wet, carrying my baby, in a body I can taste in my dreams, telling me she's undesirable, while it's all I can do not to lift you out of this bath and sink my tongue and cock into you until you're too busy calling my name to continue thinking something so ridiculous."

You bit your lip, thighs squeezing together as you felt a familiar heat pool between your legs. Kento leaned into you, kissing you deeply, slipping his tongue into you and you gasped as he moaned at your taste. Without breaking contact with you, he reached down to the end of the bath, grabbing the shower head and adjusting its setting. You felt a warm water jet rush against your thighs, as he slowly raised it to the throbbing ache between your legs.

Your head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry and hands gripping the sides of the bath. The hot pulse of water on your aching clit hit you instantly and intensely, and Kento leaned half into the bath, taking your nipple between his teeth and holding your hips still with another hand. You whined and whimpered, hands tangling into Kento's hair, completely wordless with pleasure as he moved the shower head in small circles around your clit, licking your sore nipple.

Your tummy tightened almost painfully, as you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching, a violent one, overstimulated by the fierce rush of water and Kento's mouth on your sensitive nipples. Kento talked you through your pleasure, voice low and soft as velvet.

"Are you going to cum? I won't deny you. You've earned it. I'll make you fall apart a hundred times if that's what it takes for you to understand what you do to me." You gasped, hands furiously clutching his hair, his shoulders, his chest, your hip gripped tightly by him as you bucked and writhed in the water.

Kento pressed the showerhead firmly against your clit. "Cum," he ordered, and you shouted your pleasure as your orgasm hit you like a train, completely blinded by bliss, face screwed up and whimpering.

Throwing the showerhead aside and turning off the taps, Kento reached fully into the water and lifted you as if you weighed nothing, nose to nose with you before draping you onto your bed. Before you could protest about wet sheets, Kento dropped straight to his knees, bodily dragged your bum to the edge of the bed and placed your knees over his shoulders. You had barely a moment to gather your thoughts before Kento plunged his tongue between your folds and licked a fat stripe from entrance to clit.

You bucked, gasping, hypersensitive and senses on high alert. You craned your neck desperately as you felt Kento begin to suck on your clit, but were completely unable to see him past your bump. Your toes curled against his shoulder blades, hands reaching out, desperate to ground yourself with the pleasure overwhelming you, your second orgasm rapidly approaching, and you sobbed your pleasure into the dark warmth of your bedroom. As your hand reached down, Kento's hand reached up and his fingers laced with yours. You could have cried at the sweet intimacy of his thumb stroking your palm, as you came, crying out and twisting, calling Kento's name into the dark.

Kento lapped at you like a starving man, one hand already freeing his cock from the tight confines of his pyjamas. He couldn't help giving himself long strokes, squeezing at the tip and feeling pre-cum leak over his hand as his thumb swiped across his slit. He shivered, involuntarily groaning into your pussy, and he felt your thighs twitch around his head at the vibrations. By this point, he knew you could barely see straight, panting and gripping his hand, your anchor in the mist.

The thought of you writhing with pleasure above him spurred him on further, and, reluctantly letting go of his desperate length, he pressed two fingers deep inside your pussy, wet and fluttering, instantly able to locate the spongy spot inside you which would send you over the edge again.

You were a mess at this point, tears of overstimulation streaking down into your ears, gripping Kento's hand like a lifeline. You hadn't allowed him to pleasure you like this for weeks, feeling like your body didn't belong to you anymore, and guilty towards your unborn baby for feeling this way. So long had passed that you hadn't realised how desperately you had craved Kento while denying him and yourself.

"Please Kento I can't-- can't--" you babbled, completely incapable of stringing a sentence together. His hand squeezed yours reassuringly again, and you felt his fingers curl up inside you as his tongue flicked practiced circles over you.

Feeling your pussy clench around him again, and you whimpering weakly, thighs shaking around his head, Kento felt his thighs now sticky with his own precum. Squeezing the base of his cock as he gently brought you down from your high, he nuzzled at your thighs, planting light kisses and soft words of adoration. Kento tried to pant quietly, still unwilling to chase his own needs with your body, as long as you were sated and in full knowledge that he adored you still.

Kento felt his hand being tugged by you, insistently.

"Get up here. I'm not done with you." As Kento's face appeared above your bump, nose and chin glistening with your essence, you blushed at the mischievous look in his eyes. He crawled up the bed, hovering over you, caging you in, all broad planes of muscle and protection.

"Do you want to...I mean, I'm just happy if you're happy..." Kento stopped as you placed a finger on his lips.

"Just...help me flip over." Kento growled lowly in approval, and flipped you over onto your knees with ease. He reached up the bed to place pillows around and underneath you, until your bump was supported and your bum arched beautifully towards him. He ran his tongue languidly along the exaggerated 'S' of your back, before placing a playful nip on your bottom. You squeaked and waggled your bum at him, and he placed a firm slap on one cheek as you giggled. Warmth spread through him, delighted by your happiness.

Kento lazily fingered your folds, so wet and inviting, and you sighed, pressing back into his hands. He dipped one finger inside you again, using your wetness to lubricate his cock as he continued to pump himself at the view of you, so open and inviting before him. He leaned around you, caging you in again, now from behind, and you felt so deliciously vulnerable.

His voice, slow and sultry, rumbled through your ear; "let me know if I'm hurting you."

With no further warning, you felt every inch of Kento sheath within you, your swollen pussy sensitive and clenching instantly, and it took all of Kento's restraint not to cum right there. Holding your hips tightly against his, his head rolled back in bliss and he sighed deeply, grunting as he pulled out and sharply thrust back into you again, relishing your squeaks and gasps.

Kento wanted to hold himself back, but, desperate to show you exactly how desirable he found you, his hips took on a life of their own, slamming repeatedly into you. He groaned and panted, eyes fixed on where his cock sunk into you, watching your wetness coat his thighs until the room was filled with wet slaps and guttural moans. You had given yourself over to him completely, and lay prone, back arched and arse in the air, relishing in the deep aching pleasure of being utterly railed by the man who treated you like a captured goddess.

Kento felt so guilty that having only been pleasured by his own hand for weeks, through no fault of your own, he chased his orgasm like a needy virgin. Wordlessly, he arched over you like an animal, forearms caging your head. As you sank your teeth into one forearm, kissing, licking and mewling, he felt cum shoot through his cock with little warning, gasping and shaking as he came, feeling his seed drip out around your folds, so much after so long, and he was lost in a haze of pleasure for what felt like minutes.

Catching himself before he collapsed down onto your back, Kento gripped you to him and flopped sideways, still inside you as he spooned you, teeth sinking into your shoulder with unashamed worship. His lower arm snaked under your neck to rub lazy circles on your breast, while his upper arm cradled your bump, holding you, never wanting to let you go.

"I love, revere and adore you," Kento intoned into your neck, "even more so now you're sacrificing so much to give me everything I ever dreamed of." You felt tears prick in your eyes, completely awash with his sincerity. "So please, don't ever think you're ugly to me. I will love your body and mind with every change. I celebrate it."

Planting gentle kisses to your temple, Kento moaned as he slipped out of you. Lifting you into bed, he grabbed a soft cloth from his drawer and placed it lovingly between your legs before arranging your pillows with the skill of an expert, and covering you with a dry blanket.

You began to feel sleep roll over you as Kento replaced the wet sheets. As you began to drift, feeling your baby tumble within you, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Kento would love you, and your baby, through any and every storm along the way.

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I post this fic in celebration of being blissfully married to my own Nanami, in advance of the birth of my 3rd and final baby ✌️ Every woman deserves a Kento to worship her.

[lovegasmic]

 ᰋ. HOW TO GET THE GIRL ? : jujutsu kaisen ᰍ 

request : [ them ] being the “other man” showing reader they won’t give up on her even though she now wants to be loyal. alt : just pretend there is no boyfriend and it’s exes trying to win you back.

‘ toji fushiguro, kento nanami, satoru gojo, suguru geto, choso kamo, sukuna x fem!reader ’ ୨୧ taglist

cw. slight mentions of sex◞ Sukuna gets in a fight ◞ other than that it’s all fluff / crack and probably a bit ooc.

˙ . ꒷ toji . 𖹭 ˙ — is the type that would purposely frequent the places he knows you’re going to be at, and to make it worst, when he knows you’ll be with your boyfriend.

the mall, that one restaurant you told him about, your favorite hair salon and that one clothing store, all places Toji attempts to find you at, calling you on the phone? that’s weak.

until you do ‘accidentally’ bump into Toji at the club where you first met, and he has this wide grin while nonchalantly approaching, eyeing your boyfriend up and down as if the sight was insulting, “oh, look who is here” he chuckles and you’re about to scream.

“do you know him?” your boyfriend asks, a bit taken guarded, no one could blame him really, that menacing look on Toji’s eyes plus the size of the man is just a perfect combo for disaster.

pissed is mild, you’ve already told Toji to stay away yet he never listens, “just briefly, he is not important”

the black haired man’s eyes glint with what looks like anger, but still masked under a smirk and crossed arms to purposely bulge his arms, “is that a way to talk to an old friend?” he tuts, mocking, “i’m hurt”

“let’s get going” you mutter in a rush, tugging your boyfriend to leave as soon as possible, but of course, Toji is not having it, holding onto your wrist to tug you instead towards another corner and quite fast, just to push you against a wall.

“what a fuckin’ pathetic man you got” he huffs, noticing how your boyfriend just stood there frozen, “i can’t believe you chose that”

“i chose no one, he was my first, you’re just a fling” that shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

“you didn’t say that when you were screaming my name” his hands are a bit firmer on your arms.

and your face burns slightly, “that’s different”

“how so?” Toji’s voice is demanding and gruff, “we had so much fun together, I can take better care of you than that pathetic excuse of a man you have..., please” he does not need much, really, just a single chance, and by the way your eyes drop slightly, he knows you’re seconds away from giving in.

˙ . ꒷ kento . 𖹭 ˙ — to begin with, finding out you were using him all along was like a punch in the gut, him who thought your relationship was going smooth and steady, only to be crushed down within minutes was not something Kento was willing to go through again. so, he just let’s you go, his ego hurt and heart shattered in pieces.

but then again, if you were with him, it was for a reason, right?

he acts mature, something you quite expect from a man like Kento, yet unable to deny the pull that still lingers, a whole gentleman he is, and in a city like yours finding him again was not impossible.

“hello...” his voice is steady and cool, making your tummy do a flip at the nonchalant and deep tone, “how have you been?” it’s quite obvious his words are forced, and by the way his hands are in his pockets, he wants to leave as soon as possible.

“um, good, yeah” so awkward, and to make it worse, you can’t just stop the way your eyes trail up and down his body, looking as handsome and manly with those khaki pants and blue fitted shirt.

Kento nods again, tapping on the ground with perfectly polished shoes, “good, then, goodbye”

“wait!”

your words come out before you can even stop them, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of your top, “can we... grab some coffee? if you’re free, of course”

truly meant to be, how weak you are and how weak Kento is to accept immediately, hopefully, now knowing the whole story, he can convince you to break up with your boyfriend.

˙ . ꒷ satoru . 𖹭 ˙ — another gift left on your doorstep? this is the third that week, a cute yet simple black box with a white bow around it, perhaps another expensive necklace to join the collection your ‘ex’ or better called, fling, left.

the box creates a soft thud as you toss it on the last drawer of your closet, unable to even consider throwing it away, so you better keep them, there were no more reasons behind it, you tried to convince yourself.

then another beep, you have a new voice mail that plays, “hey, sweetheart!” Satoru sounds as nonchalant and fake as ever, “you left a t-shirt at my place, ahaha, don’t you want to come grab it?”

another poor excuse.

“why don’t I better drop it at your place?” silence, “just..., let me know if your boyfriend is there...”

something he was not willing to do was drop by knowing the other man could be there, one to save himself from heartache, and another, to not murder the man with his own bare hands.

another beep, another voice call, “let me talk to you, baby, please, just once, can we talk?” he sounds a bit pathetic but who cares, you managed to get under his skin, wrapped around your finger in such a way that he was not letting you go that easily, “call me”

you couldn’t deny that he was really sweet and attentive, checking one of the anklets he got you now sitting on your skin, perhaps... giving him one call can’t hurt, right?

˙ . ꒷ suguru . 𖹭 ˙ — Mr. nonchalant, you call him, having a grin on his face that makes his eyes wrinkle on the sides, barely raising a hand to greet as you approach — although you tried to avoid him by crossing the road, thing Suguru did too, now face to face while the only one who feels awkward is you, “oh, hi” he says your name as if it was the most common thing he has ever done, rolling off his tongue way too smoothly, “i did not expect to see you around”

what a liar, if you didn’t know him, you could have overlooked the way his fists were clenched and jaw slightly tight, “and who is this?” he points at the man next to you, who Suguru knows every detail of thanks to social media.

“this is my boyfriend...” why were your words so stiff? “what are you doing here?”

“oh, me?” he shrugs, “walking around, buying some groceries, life is amazing” the sarcasm and way his eyes trailed up and down your boyfriend in such disgusted way did not escape your gaze.

“oh, that’s great, yeah... we better get going...”

“wait” there is that smile again, “why don’t you join me for dinner?” you genuinely fear for your boyfriend’s life at that suggestion.

“i don’t think—”

“ah, you wound me” so dramatic, holding a hand to his chest, “aren’t we friends?”

sure, hopefully your boyfriend will make it out in one piece.

˙ . ꒷ choso . 𖹭 ˙ — although his mind screams for not to call you, he still does. the phone feels heavy on his hand the moment he picks it up, dialing the number Choso has began to memorize from how many times he’s type it just to delete it.

straight into voicemail, just great, “doll, we have to talk...” his voice is gruff and low, trying to mask that frustration by sliding his open palm across his face, “...call me”

it’s a little pathetic but he does not care in the slightest, fuck, how much he misses you, your laugh, your smell, your voice, everything, utterly in love with you.

even his brother told him to find someone else, to let you go but he could not, at least not on his own, dragged to a bar by his friends where he oh, so coincidentally finds you again, looking as gorgeous as ever and his chest tightens.

“hey” Choso is even a little flustered to approach you, hoping you don’t push him away, he just wants to chat, really, smiling and ignoring the flutter in his stomach as you actually continue the conversation, perhaps the drinks making everything go smoother, perhaps it’s the atmosphere or just how extremely beautiful you look.

Choso can’t look away, can’t take his eyes off you, and without realizing you’re dancing again as if nothing happened, as if you’re still his, and he really, really prays that you don’t slap him as he leans for a kiss under the bar dim light.

˙ . ꒷ sukuna . 𖹭 ˙ — this was a bad idea, a horrible, terrible idea, who in their right mind even thinks about taking their boyfriend to the club their side piece is a frequent at?

you, you did.

“so this is the guy, huh?” a few drinks in and Sukuna was ready to fight without a care of the show he was putting in, that mean, wicked smirk of his in place as he taps your boyfriend’s shoulder hard enough to make him wobble slightly, “you changed me for that?!” his eyes never left yours, demanding an answer.

“i did not change you! you were not even an option ”

a deep and quite menacing laugh echoes through the now embarrassingly silent club, everyone ready to jump in if things got worse, “oh yeah? that’s so sad, babygirl, because you are mine”

“hey” your boyfriend chimes in, stepping in between you and Sukuna whose hands were on your shoulders, “keep your hands away from my girl”

“listen, pal” Sukuna retorts, his face turned into a sly smile that screams danger, “this is between me and her”

“she is my girlfriend”

and, that did not sit right with Sukuna, as the next thing you see is your boyfriend stumbling back from the pink haired’s punch on the face, and the club bouncer jumping to pull him outside, almost happening in the blink of an eye.

that was just perfect, well done.

and as your hands clean up your boyfriend’s bloodied cheek, and your thoughts trail down to Sukuna, you know you’re fucked.

[sapphire-writes]

Beyond The Play

college!Art x college!Reader

summary: Tashi needs some time alone with her man, which leaves you without a room for the night.

word count: 3.8k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: alcohol, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex with a condom, light praise, titty sucking, there's only one bed oh no!!

a/n: thanks for all the love on my first Challengers fic! hope you enjoy this one!

“You are so fucked,” Art says, taking another sip of his beer.

“Shut up.”

“He’s right,” Tashi agrees, sighing heavily, glancing at her cards.

You’re all sitting on the floor of your and Tashi’s dorm room, half-empty beer bottles littering the floor between you. You’d been playing poker for the past hour or so, swindling more of Patrick and Art’s money. It’d become a Friday night habit of yours, card games and beer with Patrick and Art. Patrick was always a maybe, he only came to visit his girlfriend a couple times a semester. 

But you, Art, and Tashi were always a solid trio. Tashi and Art had met through tennis of course, and you had met Art through Tashi after rooming with her freshman year of college. You’d become fast friends, and roommates for the next several years. You got along with Patrick well enough, you had to once he and Tashi started dating.

You could tell that had been a sore spot for Art, at least for a while. You’d suspected he’d had a thing for Tashi, and fire and ice hadn’t been the same since. You’d once asked Tashi about it and she’d only shrugged. Even though she was with Patrick for now, you knew Tashi had only one true love. 

Whatever Art felt for Tashi was easily molded into friendship, and the three of you became nearly inseparable. Which was good, even if you may or may not have developed some feelings of your own for the blond tennis player. 

But your friendship was more important. Those feelings could be pushed aside.

“God damn it,” Patrick curses, “I fold.”

Tashi snickers, revealing her cards and Patrick swears once more. 

“I need a smoke,” Patrick says, standing and leaning across Tashi’s bed to the open window.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tashi says, standing at lightning speed, “Outside, we are not getting in trouble for this.”

She grabs Patrick by the shirt collar, dragging him off the bed. He dramatically chokes, but lets her drag him towards the door.

“Art come on,” Patrick insists, reaching for his best friend.

“What? No, I wanna stay,” Art says, sandy hair falling in front of his eyes, “You don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes I do,” Patrick insists, “C’mon five minutes, I swear.”

The boys tumble into the hall and you can hear their voices fading as they make their way outside. You stand from the floor, gathering up some beer bottles, and folding up the empty pizza box.

“Hey, d’you think you could sleep somewhere else tonight?” Tashi asks, brown eyes wide, “It’s Patrick’s last night, and y’know we really haven’t had any alone time.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. You totally get where she’s coming from but, it’s your room too. The thought of sleeping in the common area is less enticing. 

“Or at least just for a couple of hours,” Tashi backtracks, seeing your expression, “Just so we can—”

“Yeah, Tash it’s fine,” you tell her, swallowing your annoyance. Tashi’s been nothing but thoughtful and kind as a roommate, and friend. It’s an inconvenient favor, but nothing crazy. “I’ll get out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

“You’re the best,” she says, kissing your cheek, “Seriously, I owe you one.”

“You sure do,” you tell her, “I expect full payment for this.”

“Do you mean a trip to the movies with slurpees and popcorn?” Tashi asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“With extra butter,” you clarify and point at her, “You’re not cheaping out on me.”

“I’d never,” she insists, feigning seriousness before breaking into a grin. 

You finish helping Tashi clean up and begin your excommunication from your room. Walking down the hallway you bump into Patrick and Art on their way back from Patrick’s smoke break.

“What’re you doing out here? You start smoking?” Art asks as Patrick keeps walking past you, picking up the pace, “Hey where…”

“Party’s over,” you tell him, as Patrick turns the corner, eager to return to Tashi now that she’s alone.

Art frowns, confused.

“But we were—”

“Art,” you cut him off and place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “Party’s over. Unless you’re eager to be a third.”

Art’s cheeks flush and he glances away, forcing out a laugh. Something tugs at your heart watching his half-smile appear. 

“Uh yeah ... .no thanks,” he says and you pat his shoulders before releasing them, “Wait but where are you going to go?”

You shrug, “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You can’t just wander around campus, it’s like 2 am,” Art says, beckoning you with his hand, “Come back to my room, at least till they’re done.”

“Really?” you ask, “Cause if you’re tired I can just—”

“Don’t be silly,” Art says, poking your shoulder, “C’mon.”

Art’s room is in a separate building on campus, about a five-minute walk from you and Tashi’s building. Art is lucky enough to have a single; you’d been there a handful of times before class or practice. He keeps his room neat, aside from some clothes scattered on the floor from quick changes before practice. You smile as he hurriedly picks them up, throwing them into a hamper in his closet.

His bed is unmade, navy sheets messy as though he’d just woken up. 

“Sorry bout the mess,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m not judging, you’re cleaner than most guys I’ve met,” you tell him and he laughs. 

Suddenly, it hits you how late it is, sleepiness hitting you like a train as you yawn. This triggers Art’s yawn and the pair of you stand awkwardly in front of each other. 

“Um,” Art says suddenly, “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” you agree, stomach sinking, “I can just—”

“You should stay.”

You’re silent at that. You stare at him, as he nervously plays with the hem of his t-shirt, waiting for your reaction. You’re not sure what to say. It’s fine, right? Just a friend, helping out another friend.

A friend whom you have a big fat annoying crush on.

“I mean….it’s just late and you’re tired and who knows when they’ll be done.”

“I don’t have anything with me,” you tell him, voice sounding softer, meeker than you’d like.

“Oh, here I got you,” he says, walking to his dresser. He shuffles through the drawer a moment before revealing a shirt and clean boxers, “Just did laundry today. You can….you can change in the bathroom. I even have an extra toothbrush.”

You roll your eyes at that, taking the clothes from him. 

“Okay,” you agree.

“Bathroom’s right there.”

You nod, quickly making your way across the room and into the bathroom. You close the door and quickly change, finding Art’s spare toothbrush unopened in a goodie bag from the dentist shoved into a spare drawer. You quickly wash your face, brush your teeth, and change into his clothes. The shirt is baggy, with Stanford Men’s Tennis written across the front. It smells like him, like his detergent and his cologne and you can’t help but greedily inhale.

When you exit the bathroom, Art dips in, leaving the door open as he brushes his teeth. You place your clothes in a pile on his desk, awkwardly waiting for him. When he emerges, he’s wearing only his boxers and a gray t-shirt.

“I’ll take the floor,” Art says, his face turning beet red, “You can have the bed.”

“Art no,” you insist, “It’s your room. I’ll take the floor, it’s only fair—”

“Yeah that is not happening,” he says, satisfied smirk on his face, “Tashi’d kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the floor.”

“We could…..” you wet your lips, struggling to get the words out, “We could share the bed?”

Art watches you, his eyes wide. You watch his Adam’s apple bobs as he contemplates your question. Suddenly your pulse quickens, and embarrassment floods your body, and your face flushes. You turn away from him, scooting onto the bed.

“I mean only—”

“—if you’re comfortable,” Art finishes and you shut your mouth. You both giggle at the overlapping sentences.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable, Art,” you tell him, patting the space beside you, “Come on.”

Art moves onto the bed and you push closer to the wall. He’s so close when he lies down beside you, stretching his arm above your head. You’ve grown accustomed to the moonlit room and at this distance, you can almost count each eyelash that frames his blue eyes. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, minty breath wafting over your face, making your head spin.

“Mhmm,” is all you can manage as the heat of his body warms you under the covers.

He’s silent then and you lay there for a moment, watching each other, listening to your shared breathing. Art chuckles then.

“What?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, “Nothing, it’s silly.”

“What is it?”

“You’re the first girl I’ve shared a bed with,” he admits, shyly glancing away from your gaze.

“Art Donaldson,” your tone is teasing, “I find that rather hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” he insists, brows furrowing together, “I mean….I’m not saying—wait” he wets his lips nervously, “I’m not a virgin—”

Your eyebrows raise, a smile curling at the corner of your lips. No, you did not doubt that. 

“Not that anything’s wrong with that, I just—wait and not to imply—”

“Art!” you cut him off, reaching forward and pressing your fingers against his lips, “I’m kidding. Don’t freak out.”

“M’not,” he mumbles, lips moving against your fingers.

“I’m fucking with you, Donaldson,” you whisper, taking your hand back, “I know you’re a gentleman.”

“Thank Christ,” he says with an exaggerated exhale causing you to giggle once more. He watches you, a smile on his face, eyes flickering to your lips.

Your face heats up as he wets his lips. Suddenly, nervousness flutters in your belly, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning away from him to face the wall.

You wait for his response, hoping he’s not disappointed. Disappointed about what, you’re not sure. 

“Goodnight,” he says softly and you close your eyes.

You wake up early. Birds are chirping outside the window, golden sunlight is beginning to bleed into the room, and Art’s chest is smushed firmly against your back. His arm is curled around your middle, hand splayed under your shirt and on your tummy, face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s so warm, his presence so comforting, you just want to close your eyes and melt back into him. 

Art groans in his sleep, moving his hips slightly and your eyes snap open.

Oh, Art.

He’s pressed firmly against your backside, rock-hard, hips unconsciously grinding against you. Your mouth falls open slightly feeling him against you, the hard outline of his cock bullying against your ass. Art groans again, hand on your stomach pushing you closer to him.

A breathy sigh escapes you and your head falls back against him slightly. 

“Art,” you breathe, answered with another groan, this one edging on a whimper. His hips gyrate, cock pressing against you with need, “Oh God…”

You swallow, breathing becoming more shallow. Your pussy clenches, and you can feel the growing wetness in the boxers Art had lent you, thighs pressing together desperate to relieve some of the pressure.

“Art wake up!” 

Art wakes with a start, head pulled from your shoulder. You can’t see him, but you feel him tense, the warmth of his body ripped from yours as he lurches backward, right off the edge of the bed. He falls with a yelp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. You sit up turning toward him. 

“Fuck!” he says, scrambling to sit and hide his erection, “Shit, I’m so sorry!” His face is red and he grabs a pillow, placing it over his lap, “God–fuck, I’m so sorry I was asleep—” He keeps stuttering, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Art.”

“It’s just biological you know, just morning wood, I would never do anything without your explicit consent–enthusiastic consent!”

“Art…”

“And I would never want to ruin anything between us, ever–”

“Art!”

His head snaps toward you then, eyes meeting yours. His mouth hangs open, eyes watery as he looks up at you. He looks so sad, so embarrassed, and disappointed. And something else as well. Worried, perhaps. 

“Get back up here,” you tell him.

Art’s mouth remains open in shock as he glances at the bed.

“Now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Art scrambles to rejoin you on the bed, lying beside you. He faces you just as he did last night, sandy hair falling across his forehead. You smile softly at his disheveled appearance and his flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking,” you tell him, reaching forward and brushing some hair from his face. You let your hand trail around to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. “You have my consent.”

Art’s eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, pulling yourself closer. His hand drifts to your hip, anchoring himself to it. “Explicit, enthusiastic, all yours.”

The last word has barely left your lips before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own. They’re warm and soft, he kisses you with innocent eagerness, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. You lift your leg, hitching it around his thigh, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly, earning a moan against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips, “You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

Something deep inside your belly warms at his admission. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he answers, kissing you again, “Since freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you…..oh fuck..” your question trails off as Art mouths your neck, sucking and biting the tender skin.

“Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he mumbles, kissing your collarbone. 

You hum at his answer, tilting your head to give him better access. His hand moves from your hip bone, up under your shirt—his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth returning to your lips.

“Yes,” you tell him, “Please touch me.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he does what you ask, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. Pushing against him, his hand cups your breast, squeezing lightly. You pull away from his lips briefly, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it to the end of the bed. Art’s eyes devour you and he kisses you desperately as he continues to play with your tits. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck until he reaches the top of your chest. 

Art’s lips move across the tops of your breasts, as though he’s struggling with choosing which one to lavish with attention. Luckily for you, he decides rather quickly and latches his mouth to your right nipple, thumb, and forefinger, tweaking the opposite. Your back arches as he gently bites down, sucking the hardened peak harshly before releasing it with a pop. 

“Art.”

He simply moans, ignoring your cries as he brings his mouth to your opposite nipple, repeating his previous action. Pleasure winds a current in your lower belly, your thighs clench as he repeats his little torture, alternating back and forth between your breasts. You grab his hair, tugging him not too gently until he glances up at you, cheeks red, lips glossy and puckered. 

He’s too pretty.

You pull him back to your lips, kissing him feverishly while trying to rid yourself of the clothing you have left. Art feels you squirming and assists, hands moving the boxers down your legs until you’re able to kick them off at your ankles. Your hands move to him next, eager to even the playing field. 

You tear his shirt over his head revealing his toned stomach from countless hours on the court. Your mouth waters at the sight before Art is on you once more, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. His hand returns to your hip, curling against it before he reaches further, squeezing your ass.

You smile against his mouth as he squeezes again. 

“You’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he murmurs, returning your smile.

His hand grazes down the back of your thigh before venturing to the front where your legs meet. Your breathing becomes more labored the closer he gets to your hot center. 

“Can I?” he asks, so softly, you nearly drown out his question with your heavy breath.

“Yes,” you tell him, and that’s all he needs. 

Art slides a curious finger between your wet folds, gently circling your clit. Your mouth falls open as he continues.

“You’re so wet,” he remarks, dipping his finger lower, and finding your entrance. 

He lets his middle finger sink into you, met with little resistance. Your walls greedily accept him as he curls his finger upwards, beginning to pump it in and out. Stars explode behind your eyes and you moan, clutching onto his shoulder.

Art smirks, eyes aglow at the pleasured noises you emit.

“That feel good?”

“Yes—fuck,” you squeak as he presses another finger inside of you, “Oh god.”

“Yeah?” 

Art crooks his fingers against your velvety walls, pressing against that special spot inside of you that has your head lolling against him, moans spilling from your lips. His thumb joins, caressing your sensitive clit in time with the strokes of his fingers. 

“Feels so good,” you moan, “I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You're gonna come for me?” he asks, kissing your neck. Your fingers tangle themselves in his blonde hair, tugging harshly, your orgasm building deep in your belly, “Come on baby, come on my fingers, I wanna feel this pretty pussy come.”

His words send you over the edge and your pussy clenches around his digits as you come, thighs shaking from the intensity as warmth floods through you.

“That was so hot,” Art says, kissing you, still buried to the knuckles inside you, “You’re so hot. Let me fuck you, please.”

You hum against his lips as he carefully removes his fingers from your warmth. He pulls away, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. You watch him awestruck as he moans, eyes closing at the taste of you.

“Get inside me,” you tell him, “Right now.”

Art doesn’t need to be told twice, sitting up and pulling his boxers off as you lay on your back. Your eyes drift down his stomach to his cock. It’s pretty, just like the rest of him. Long, girthy, a neat tuft of dark sandy colored hair at the base. The tip flushed red and weeping as he strokes himself. 

“Condom?” you ask, and he nods, walking to his desk and rummaging through the first drawer. 

He comes up successful, ripping the wrapper with his teeth and rolling the condom on his length before crawling on top of you. You spread your legs for him as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip along your soaked slit. 

“Art, please put it in,” you whine, hips lifting.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up,” he says, shaking his head.

Your responding giggle is short-lived as he slowly sinks inside of you, filling you to the brim.

“Oh god,” you whimper, as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You okay?”

“More than okay,” you answer, cupping his cheek. He mirrors your action and you smile, a sudden burst of tenderness exploding in your chest, tears welling in your eyes. 

Art rotates his hips, pulling back and sinking back into your inviting warmth. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, “I’ve dreamt of this for years.”

“Me too,” you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist, “God, Art, I’ve wanted this forever.”

This spurs him on, his thrusts becoming quicker, more eager at your confession. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimper as he pounds into you, “Wanted this for so long—used to talk to….to Tashi about it—”

Art moves his hand along your side, reaching your thigh and hooking your leg over his shoulder.

“What’d you tell her?”

The new angle sends him deeper, the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against that spongy section of your walls that has your mouth dropping open in pleasure.

“Wanted you,” you manage as Art holds one of your hands above your head against the pillows, “Wanted this so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Art says, his breath catching, “Fuck—oh god you’re so pretty like this, fuck.”

“Art!” you cry his name as your second orgasm builds, sneaking up on you as he slows his pace, “Why’d you—”

“Wanna savor this,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. His thrusts have slowed, hips moving with leisure. 

The pressure in your belly continues to build as he smirks down at you. Tennis has done wonders to his stamina; he fucks you like he could keep this pace for hours, barely breaking a sweat. You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he kisses your neck, your hamstring burning deliciously with the stretch. 

“Please come for me,” he murmurs, right next to your ear, “I’ve got to feel that sweet little pussy come around my cock, please.”

You do as you’re told, spurred on by Art whispering praises and encouragement in your ear and you fall apart, clenching around his cock and milking him for all he’s worth. You feel his hips stutter, cock twitching inside your warmth as he follows your release with his own. Art’s lips find yours then, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you like a drowning man coming up for air. 

You stay like that for several minutes, his cock softening as you kiss one another, before he slowly pulls out. He takes a moment to take off the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the trash before he rejoins you in bed.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you across his chest. 

You lie with your cheek pressed against his pec, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. He strokes your arm with his fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, face buried in your hair, “About wanting me? This?”

“Mhmm,” you answer, putting all your cards on the table, “I may have harbored a small crush on you.”

Art picks up your hand measuring it against his own before lacing your fingers together.

“I wish I knew that earlier,” he admits, still holding your hand, “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

You glance up at him between your lashes and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says with a smile.

“And here I thought Patrick was the only one who owned your heart,” you tease, causing him to playfully bite your wrist, “Hey!”

“Not the only one,” he admits, rolling you over onto your back, “I’m glad you got kicked out of your room last night.”

You lean up, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Me too.”

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[aakeysmash]

Another little soft mechanic!Sukuna drabble because I love him ;( gets literally a biiit suggestive but it’s not super smutty!

“I don’- thin’- she like- dat.”

You groggily turn around, woke up by your boyfriend’s mumbles. You didn’t really catch what he said, but you just want to sleep, so you don’t pay it no mind. You scoot further on your side of the bed and start to fall asleep again, when he gets back on saying random things.

“Range Rov’r… so small… wan’ marr- ‘her…“

“Sukuna, stop, I’m tired, I can’t sleep with you talking” you respond, giving him a delicate shake. He’s tired too, you know it, and that’s why he’s talking in his sleep: he only does that when he’s exhausted. For the last month he’s been working extra hours at the garage he owns, saying it’s because “you both deserve a great vacation this year”. When you asked why, he rolled his eyes and ignored you. The tips of his ears were red.

He whines, barely waking up. He slightly opens one eye, sees you far away from him on your shared bed and scowls. Lately you haven’t been together a lot, apart from the times you try to study in his office with your headphones on to not hear him curse like a sailor, or, well, like a mechanic. He wraps one of his arms around your naked waist and bumps your body against his own.

“Gotcha,” he hoarsely says. You chuckle lightly then try wiggling away to sleep again, but he doesn’t budge. The long hours he spends under the cars have given him the most amazing muscles you’ve ever seen, but those come with a lot of strength too.

You relax in his hold while he draws random patterns on your skin with his calloused hand. It’s summer, you’re both naked because he says he likes to feel your skin on his. The only time you complained about being sweaty he grinned and said he knew other ways to make you sweaty, so now you only bring out the topic when you want to get dicked down good and fast.

You reach around his body to place your hand on his back, head below his chin. You could kiss his neck if you’d pucker your lips a little, that’s how close you are. You’re starting to fall asleep again when he whispers in your ear something you don’t understand.

“What?” You ask softly.

“… lov’ ya,” he slurs, before beginning to snore a bit. You smile to yourself, getting impossibly closer to him and drifting off to sleep.

[luveline]

grumpy hotch x pregnant reader where he is just having an off day and the team calls reader in to deal with him and as soon she arrives in his office he just holds her and her belly as she scratches his scalp omg 🥹😭🫶🏻

You’re lounging in your husband's favourite chair with a book and an ice cold soda in your hand when your phone rings. You almost knock your tooth out pulling it up to your face without looking, wanting it to be Aaron, knowing it probably won’t be. Maternity leave can be excruciatingly boring. 

“Hello?” you ask. Your book slides down your bump. You pull it back up. 

“Hi, mom.”  

You grin to yourself. “Hi, Emily. Please tell me you’re calling because you miss me and you know I have cabin fever.” 

“I’m calling because someone misses you.” Her ire tone is unmissable and ever endearing. “I do miss you, I can’t wait for you to have your stinking baby and come back to work.” 

“That would be fun, right? We’ll get Hotch on paternity leave.” 

“It’s him I’m calling about.” 

“Is he okay?” you ask. You know if he were injured she would’ve mentioned that first. You’re not so scared of his being grumpy. 

“Moody as ever. I can’t believe I’m asking you to, but would you consider coming in for lunch? I’ll send a car, no walking, but he could really use it. He’s been biting off heads all morning.” Emily laughs down the line. “You’re the only one who can cheer him up.” 

It’s not true, but you are usually the quickest. You bid Emily goodbye with a promise to be there soon and get dressed, with no choice but to wear some maternity pants and a peplum blouse. Any excuse to see your haggard husband is one you’ll take. 

You look at your bump and you love the baby in there, but it feels weird sometimes to see yourself differently. If Aaron weren’t as nice about it as he is, you would’ve broken down by now; he’s sussed many breakdowns before they could begin, kissed fingertips and collars promising you’re just as pretty as always. And it’s reassuring, but it isn’t pretty that worries you. You’re a genuine walking beach ball right now. 

The car Emily promises is none other than Anderson himself. “He’s bullying you?” you ask him. 

He doesn’t say yes or no, but his smile is enough of a clue. You can’t get to the BAU quick enough (though you’re slower these days), pushing open the glass door with a tired sign. 

Spencer comes across you first by coincidence. “Hey!” he says, ushering you in for a hug, his cup of coffee hot behind your shoulder. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.” 

“He’s in a mood,” you say. Not without fondness. 

Spencer grimaces. “Sort of.” 

Emily attacks you from the side. “Thank god you’re here! I think he just told Morgan to go fuck himself,” she says under her breath. 

She’s just saying it to make you laugh, and it works. It’s vaguely out of character, but if you know Emily, you know she has a crass, often dirty-minded side, and it’s been a while since you’ve heard her swear. You’re still giggling when the door you’d been making your way to opens. 

Aaron emerges with an expression half bemusement and half confusion. “Honey?” 

“My love,” you say, too quiet for him to properly hear, but he can read lips just fine. 

He rushes in a very gentlemanly display down the steps to help you up them, but you’d only been going up them to see him, and you stop at the foot of them with your hand raised to his elbow. “Hey, handsome.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing. Just missed you, wanted to have dinner, and I figured you couldn’t say no. You know.” You touch your tummy. “Considering.” 

He peers suspiciously past your head. “Yeah?” 

You look where he’s looking, find Emily and Spencer not so subtly turned away. You laugh again, pleased when the sound makes him smile. “Come on. Take me to your office.” 

He puts a hand behind your shoulders and leads you upstairs to his office. There are papers strewn haphazard across the front of the desk, his briefcase open and muddled, his pen lost within the mess. You’re smug knowing he’d been knee deep in paperwork but abandoned it all when he heard you laughing, like he just couldn’t miss it. 

“Let me sit you down,” he says. 

“Woah, slow your roll. Why are you stressed?” 

He blinks at you. “There’s a lot to do?” 

“Sure, but why are you stressed about me? I can sit down by myself.” 

He must look at you for five whole seconds without saying a word, and the door’s not closed, there’s no answer to your question, and then he takes you into his arms for a hug. “I know you can,” he says. 

It’s admittedly hard to hug him with the bump between you. You worry you’re hurting him as your cheeks press together, crushing his shoulders under your hands. 

He usually asks first, but he knows by now that you’re two halves of the same heart, two sides of the same coin, his hand slipping between you both to nudge aside your shirt and feel your stomach. 

You close your eyes. 

“Rough day?” you ask. 

“A lot to do…” His face moves down into your neck. 

You know what he wants, moving your hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers into his hair. “I can fix it,” you say sympathetically, beginning a gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp. 

“How’s that?” 

“If I go into labour right now, you get a reprieve.” 

“Honey, in the most loving sense possible, you going into labour now would not be ideal.” 

“It’s gonna happen one day, babe. And you’re gonna be just as busy then. You need to take less on or–”

“No, I know.” 

His hand slides still under your shirt to your hip, encouraging you away from him, his eyes flitting up and down your figure, checking you over. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, fingertips interested in the starchy fabric of a new suit. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, dipping down to give you a kiss. His eyes are dark, so close. “That helped. What can I get you for dinner?” 

You give a fond, pitying smile. You’re not gonna get him out of this office today, that’s for sure. “Half your sandwich, probably.” 

He kisses you again. You take it for a thank you.